


cafe-au-late2 or Star Crossed Lovers

by Johncowdrey



Category: Endeavour (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-26
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:07:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 20,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27723254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Johncowdrey/pseuds/Johncowdrey
Summary: A COLD WAR SPY STORY.WE FIND OUT PEOPLE ARE NOT WHO WE THOUGHT THEY WERE. A FEW SURPRISES ALONG THE WAY, I HOPE.LOCATIONS LONDON , OXFORD, AND AFRICA.MAIN CHARACTERS; MORSE, JOAN, JONATHON KEYES , MONICA HICKS AND COLONEL SAUNDERSAND A HOMAGE TO MY FAVOURITE EPISODE QUARTET
Relationships: Endeavour Morse/Joan Thursday, Joan Thursday/Other(s)
Comments: 10
Kudos: 14





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A DRASTIC REBOOT OF THE ORIGINAL CAFE -AU-LATE,  
> NOT NECESSARY TO READ TO READ THE ORIGINAL, BUT I WOULD LOVE IT IF YOU DID.

Cafe-au-Late 2 chapter 1  
Enugu province: Biafra (S.W. Nigeria)   
Late July 1968  
The old Dakota transport plane had somehow managed to dodge the jets   
of the Nigerian Air Force, that buzzed over the dense Biafran jungle like   
swarms of angry hornets.  
The 6 passengers in the plane were all, according to the aircrafts manifest,   
volunteers, medics of some kind and ostensibly members of the Red   
Cross, who had no interest in the rights and wrongs of Major General   
Ojukwo’s newly independent, oil rich, and battered Republic of Biafra.  
There was one woman on board, Staff Nurse Monica Hicks formerly of   
Cowley General Hospital, and sometime girlfriend of Detective Sergeant   
Endeavour Morse.   
The only other person of interest was Dr Jonathon Keyes, Cardiologist and   
Joan Thursday’s absent Fiancé.  
Mercifully someone on the ground had remembered to switch on the   
landing lights, and so Jonathon and his fellow mercenaries (as the other   
side liked to call them), had a relatively safe landing, and were soon   
jumping down from the aircraft’s escape hatch (with as far as they could tell   
everything intact), quickly picking up their back packs and various pieces   
of equipment, that had been thrown out of the Dakota by the aircrew, they   
hurried towards two beaten up land rovers from the Nigerian Red Cross,   
both of which were prominently displaying the Red Cross logo, and waiting   
in a nearby clearing.   
The drivers were all proudly wearing Red Cross armbands, and   
nonchalantly smoking and chatting in a local dialect while they waited for   
their 6 passengers to reach them. The volunteers were less than 50 yards   
away, when 2 R.P.G missiles streaked across the cloudless night sky from  
the east and slammed into the vehicles with an almighty whump, and the   
hapless drivers were thrown far into the Biafran bush by the blast, while the   
flames lit up the night sky.  
The blast had knocked Jonathon and his comrades senseless for a   
moment or two, and when he came to, he felt the cold steel of an Uzi sub   
machine pistol barrel being thrust harshly into the nape his neck.

Oxford, England: 4 months later  
Early November 1968  
Morse couldn’t believe it. It had to happen tonight of all nights, the rubbish   
plumbing of the people in the upstairs flat had burst, while he was at work.   
When he got home the worst was over. The Fire Brigade had turned the   
water off, and he, Morse was left to deal with the widespread disaster of   
plaster, dust, wattle and daub, and a small lake of smelly, filthy dirty water,   
which was constantly being added to by the water dripping from the ceiling.   
This manmade lake now covered his bedroom, kitchen and most of his   
lounge.   
He had made every preparation for his attempt at seducing Joan, even  
though he was not at all happy about having his arm twisted, and if the   
truth was told not very optimistic of success. Romantic popular music (of   
the kind Joan would like), a couple of bottles of Joan’s favourite wine, and a   
bottle of Brut aftershave that she found sexy, but that he personally couldn’t   
stand.  
He had even hired the lady next door to give his flat a top to bottom going   
over, making sure she changed his old bed linen for the black silky set he   
had bought specially for tonight. He had laid the ground work last week,   
when Joan had opened up her heart to him about her newish boyfriend   
Jonathon, and when he had made his feelings for her plain, she had sort of   
agreed to think about what he had said. He was being sincere with her   
which is more than could be said about that bastard Keyes.  
Morse could be a bit mean spirited sometimes, it went with the job, but poor   
Joan’s deception by her “Peter Perfect” boyfriend with movie star looks   
just rankled, and brought out the worst in him, as he realised that sticking it   
to Jonathon would give him almost as much pleasure as bedding the   
delectable Miss Thursday.  
Looking around the chaos that was now his flat, he thought the only thing   
for it was to phone Joan up and cancel, but she wouldn’t hear of it, she   
insisted he came over to her place, as both her flatmates were out for the   
evening, so they could discuss something in private.  
Morse was in the middle of an abstruse case, which began with a television   
game show, a branch of M.I.5, a former professor of his, the local   
newsagent and a world famous per fumier,” but could anything really   
match the enigma that was Joan Thursday” he thought as he made his way   
to her flat to keep the date they had just arranged. “Perhaps that’s the   
eternal attraction she has for me, has Joan bewitched me? Will I ever be   
able to find love because of the hold she has over me?”  
Morse decided it was time to stop feeling sorry for himself and to put self   
doubts away, and find out why Miss Thursday was so anxious to see him   
tonight.  
Morse climbed the three steps leading up to Joan’s front door, but before   
he could ring the doorbell; a very pretty girl came out and gave him a big   
smile and said  
“How are you Morse”, before going on her way. It was Helen, the student   
flatmate of Joan, who worked in a local pub to supplement her grant.  
A minute or two after ringing the bell, Joan came to the door in a towelling   
robe, and she was rubbing her long hair with a towel, after obviously having   
a bath.  
“You’d better come in Morse; there is something I want you to see, “she   
says with a worried look on her face.  
As Morse sat down on the comfortable sofa in the lounge, he was hoping to   
be offered a drink, but Joan was far too busy looking for something in her   
bedroom to worry about the niceties of hospitality.  
Finally, Joan had found what she was looking for, and proffered an official   
looking envelope over to Morse for his inspection.  
“Right I am going to get dressed while you read this” Joan   
said somewhat bossily.  
Ten minutes later she emerged from her bedroom in Levis,  
a white blouse and white plimsolls.  
“What do you think it’s about Morse, it came first post this morning.”  
Morse read it again;   
The headed paper was from a dept. within the Board of Trade.  
It read;  
Dear Miss Thursday,  
We wish to speak to you on a matter of National and Personal  
importance. Please telephone ................. and ask for ext. ........  
to make an appointment. Your discretion is of the utmost importance.  
It was signed by his new/old boss Colonel Saunders

London, Whitehall S.W.I  
Late October 1968: 2 weeks ago  
As Morse sat outside the nondescript office of his former Commanding   
Officer Colonel Saunders, he wondered not for the first time, what the hell   
was he doing here?  
The Colonel was a sort of mentor of his (similar to D.C.I. Thursday) from   
back in the days of his National Service with the Royal Signals. The phone   
call he got from the Colonel was not a request, and so here he was. From   
what Morse knew of the now shadowy Colonel, its best not to mess with   
him, just go with the flow.  
“Come in Morse, and take a seat.”  
“First things first, I need you to sign this, here and here and  
date it on the dotted line.”  
Morse read the orange form very carefully, it was a copy of The Official   
Secrets Act. Knowing better than to refuse, he duly signed and dated   
where asked. After putting the form in a file, the Colonel goes on  
“Of course, this is a mere formality, if you disclose to a third party what we   
are to discuss, the penalty would be extreme”  
“You mean I would be shot.”  
“Quite so Morse”  
The Colonel opened a plain manila file he had just taken from the wall safe,   
and took out three colour photos, which had obviously been taken without   
the subject’s knowledge or permission.  
“Is this person known to you?”  
“Of course, it’s Joan Thursday, my boss’s daughter”  
“What about this one?”  
“Yes, its Claudine Duval, she’s my girlfriend, we were planning on getting   
engaged shortly.”  
“Don’t! Get rid of her, we know her better as Major Irina Boursin, a K.G. B.   
operative with their Illegal’s dept. It is her Job to snare you into marriage,   
and turn you, in time, into a Soviet double agent. The Russian security  
services are well aware of your talents, and that a dept. of M.I.5. are   
interested in recruiting you.”  
Morse was stunned by his words, but continued,  
“In other words, she’s part of a honey trap”  
“I could not have put it better myself, Morse.”  
Colonel Saunders then passed across the final photo of a very handsome   
man, in his late twenties with blue eyes and blonde hair, cut short.  
“I haven’t a clue about him Colonel”  
“Well let me introduce Brigadier General Yevgeny Smirnov”  
“Is something amusing you Morse?”  
“No sir, just a tickle in the back of my throat.”   
The Colonel passes across a carafe of water and a tumbler, and then   
carried on with his description.   
“He is by far the youngest General in the K.G.B, and the only holder  
of the Order of the Red Banner under fifty years of age. It was awarded to   
him personally by Leonid Brezhnev. He is a man of mystery; we know next   
to nothing about him, apart from the fact he is a qualified Doctor, and has a   
number of aliases. Miss Thursday would have known him as Doctor   
Jonathon Keyes, a Cardiologist at Guys Hospital London.  
Everything else he told her would probably be a pack of lies, I can’t over   
state how dangerous this man is, and he would not hesitate to eliminate   
Miss Thursday, should the need arise.”  
He has two missions at present, setting up a spy cell with the help of   
Boursin, to probably replace an existing one that is past it’s sell by date,   
and by recruiting Joan Thursday and yourself as operatives, by whatever   
means it takes. Secondly causing trouble in Biafra, that’s where he is now.  
Again, we know nothing of his aims there.”   
“Why would he be interested in Joan?”  
“Who knows? but probably because of her very public left-wing views, her   
respectable background, and he would believe she is a vulnerable   
personality, compliant after her experiences during the Wessex Bank raid,  
the treatment she received from Morton, her abusive boyfriend, and of   
course her miscarriage last year.”  
(Morse is amazed that he knows so much about Joan’s private life, and   
wonders what he knows about his).  
“He will obviously begin by grooming her for greater things when he   
believes he has her under his control, perhaps a career in politics or the   
civil service. Keyes is also heterosexual, and she is very attractive.”  
“I see that makes sense but what do you want me for?”  
“Primarily to keep an eye on Miss Thursday, we need to know whether   
Keyes has turned her yet, we know they were lovers until he left for Biafra,   
and she considers they are engaged. Has he been in touch with her since?   
Has he come back to the U.K? She might know, but we’re not sure, putting   
it bluntly Morse we need you to become her new lover, so she tells you   
everything we need to know; pillow talk I think is the phrase”  
“You mean seduction, don’t you? I think she has been let down enough”   
Saunders shrugs his shoulders and says  
“You can always ask her to marry you, I can think of many worse fates”   
he says flippantly while looking admiringly at her photo.  
“And if I refuse to do what you ask?” Morse says stubbornly.  
“Don’t refuse......for both your sakes”

Enugu province: Biafra (S.W.Nigeria)   
Late July 1968  
“O.k. white boy you can get up now, the fireworks are over,”  
Jonathon can feel the muzzle of the gun being removed from his neck, and   
he gets a kick from a hobnail boot to his arse to encourage him to get a   
move on.  
An Officer appears at the scene, and after inspecting his prisoners,   
demands at the top of his voice,  
“We need to see your papers, are any of you British Special Forces”   
the officer in charge says in perfect English.  
A minute or two later he begins to get impatient, and without warning he   
pulls a Russian Tokarev pistol from its holster, and shoots the nearest man   
to him in the back of his head, blowing his brains out, and even shocking  
his own men.   
“Unless you step forward now, every white man here will have his fucking   
head blown off, and maybe this black bitch too.....after I have finished with   
her of course “as he leers at Staff Nurse Hicks .  
Three covert members of the S.A.S., raise their hands, and are   
immediately set upon by Biafran soldiers, who beat them mercilessly before   
they are dragged away to be interrogated or tortured or both.  
The Biafran Major steps forward towards Jonathon, he bows his head, and   
then he salutes saying,  
“Brigadier General, I am honoured, welcome to The Republic of Biafra”  
Jonathon returned the salute and said,  
“Thank you for the “warm” welcome and disposing of our “excess baggage”   
nodding towards the dead man who was missing most of his skull.  
“I would like to introduce my personal bodyguard, Comrade   
Sergeant Petrushka Borzoi” Jonathon says while gesturing towards Staff   
Nurse Monica Hicks, who comes to attention and smartly salutes  
the Biafran Major.   
To be continued


	2. chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Joan and Morse are getting drawn into a web by the Colonel. Jonathon and Monica meet the general and have to leave  
> Jonathon makes mistakes and Monica proves she is a tough cookie

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Biafran war happened. General Ojukwu was a real life person

Cafe-au-Late2   
chapter 2Early November 1968  
Joan Thursday’s flat  
Oxford  
Morse was a bit lost for words, while the letter didn’t reveal much, it spoke   
volumes to Morse. Any request by the sinister Colonel Saunders was   
anything but good news for anybody.  
“You say the letter arrived this morning, why didn’t you phone him to find   
out what he wanted?”  
“I was late for the Advice Centre, so I just stuffed it in my pocket, and read   
it when I got home. I had a bad feeling about it, and so I thought I would   
wait to see what you thought about it before I did anything.”  
Morse looks at his wristwatch; it was just after 8p.m.  
“Well, if it’s that important perhaps he’s still there.”  
After listening to the dialling tone for a while, Morse finally gets an answer,   
and asks the operator on the switchboard for the extension he wants, and   
he is lucky enough to get through to Colonel Saunders secretary. She   
however, insists she can only speak to Miss Thursday.  
A nervous Miss Thursday takes over the phone from Morse, and duly   
makes an appointment to see the Colonel at 2.30 p.m. tomorrow afternoon.  
After putting the phone back in the cradle Joan turns to Morse and says,   
“This is getting very fishy, how many senior civil servants work on a   
Saturday afternoon?”  
“Perhaps he needs the overtime.” Morse’s lame attempt at humour falls on   
stony ground.  
Changing the subject Joan asks,  
“I bet you haven’t had anything to eat this evening, I am going to have   
beans on toast, do you want to join me?”  
“That would be great; but I’d better be getting off home after, to make a   
start clearing up the mess that burst pipe has left me with.”  
“Don’t be silly, you’re staying here tonight, if you go home to that soaking   
wet flat you could end up with pneumonia or even worse. No, we will go to   
your place tomorrow morning, and see what needs to be done, before we   
go to London to meet this mysterious Colonel.”  
Morse perked up considerably at Joan’s offer, but she went on to say,  
“Pauline is away for the weekend, so I’ll just change the bed clothes, you’ll   
be fine in her room.”  
(The fact that Joan had assumed he would be accompanying her to   
London was not lost on him).  
While Joan went to make up his bed, Morse went to open one of the bottles   
of wine that were a part of his aborted plan for her seduction that he had in   
mind for her this evening.  
When they were settled on the sofa, with a glass of wine each, Morse   
asked Joan if she had any news about Jonathon.  
Joan pauses, and looks uncertain before confiding in him  
“Now, I know you have always thought that I can be fanciful Morse, but I   
have been trying to get in touch with his friends. You know from his   
Grammar school, University and even his previous Hospital, but it seems   
once I go back further than three years, I run into a ruddy great brick wall.   
He doesn’t seem to exist before 1965.”  
Joan pauses to have a sip of her wine,” Umm my favourite was this meant   
to be for a special occasion?”  
Morse blushes furiously, and Joan carries on  
“There is always a problem; the paperwork has been lost, or damaged in a   
fire or a flood, and sometimes the person who would know, is dead, that   
seems to happen quite a bit. He went to Lonsdale too, because he was   
only sixteen when he went up, he should have been there about the same   
time as you, can you remember anything at all about him, because if you   
remember he knew something about you and a girl called Susan.”  
Morse looks apologetic, and shakes his head, “Sorry I don’t.”   
“I was hoping to find someone who might have heard from him, his   
colleagues at Guys have not heard anything either, and I am beginning to   
doubt that letter I got from the Red Cross about his capture, I am sure he   
would have got in touch by now. One other thing, when we spent a   
weekend together in London six months ago, I found out he had a priority   
account with the Savoy Hotel, why would he want or need, or be able to   
afford something like that?”  
Apart from the obvious (which Joan wouldn’t want to hear) Morse hadn’t a   
clue.  
(Most of this conversation, thanks to Colonel Saunders, is not news to   
Morse, and after the Colonels threats, he is getting desperate to bring this   
conversation to a close,)  
“Look Joan, I think you are worrying yourself unnecessarily, when he   
shows up, and he will, I am sure he will be able to answer all your   
questions. I think it would be a good idea if we finished our wine, and went   
off to bed, we have a big day tomorrow.”  
“Thanks Morse I know I can always rely on you to make me feel better, and   
see sense,” and after a chaste kiss they wish each other goodnight.  
Morse hopes she will feel the same after speaking to the Colonel tomorrow.  
The next morning after a hearty breakfast they set off to inspect the   
damage to his flat. He is delighted that the Landlord has been so quick to   
sort this mess out. The workmen, have used a pass key, and are already   
hard at work restoring the ceiling, replacing the carpets and fixing the   
fixtures and fittings. A couple of industrial sized de-humidifiers are doing a   
great job in soaking up the widespread flood water. Also, there is a cheque   
made out to him for £100.00 to cover the cost of incidentals, such as bed   
linen, new clothes, and curtains, etc.  
Joan makes herself busy inspecting the work, and declares   
“They are doing a really good job Morse”.  
Before they leave the foreman assures Morse that the decorators will be in   
tomorrow to finish up, and he can move back in on Monday. Luckily Joan is   
quite happy to put Morse up for another couple of nights.  
What the foreman failed to tell Morse was that his gang had along with   
everything else, installed three extremely powerful, state of the art   
microphones, that were to all intents and purposes undetectable.

July 1968  
Enugu Province  
Biafra (S.W. Nigeria)  
The Biafran Major leads Jonathon, Monica, and his troops towards a dirt   
track where a green Saladin armoured car and rocket launcher is waiting   
next to a troop carrier.  
“The Journey to Enugu will take about 3 hours and can be perilous, I would   
therefore, suggest you travel in the armoured car.”  
Jonathon and Monica climb in and make themselves as comfortable as   
possible for the journey.  
“His Excellency will expect you for dinner at 8 p.m. tomorrow evening at his   
residence, which will give you a chance to rest, shower and recuperate   
after your arduous journey. You are free to go wherever you wish in the   
compound, but please don’t leave it, this is for your own safety General.”  
Jonathon and Monica give each other knowing looks.  
Shortly after setting off Monica is curled up, and fast asleep despite the   
heavily rutted track making the journey very bumpy. Jonathon is left alone   
with his thoughts.  
“If I had to say what my greatest mistake was, it was falling in love with   
Joan Thursday. My second great mistake was not killing her when I had the   
chance. She knows more about me than virtually anyone else alive,   
certainly, more than Sergeant Petrushka Borzoi. Like a fool I even took her   
to our “safe house” at the Savoy Hotel. I had such great hopes for her.”  
he muses.  
He remembered about Morse, his top target, at the time Petrushka had   
almost finished grooming him, when his damned infatuation for Joan ruined   
everything, perhaps Major Boursin would have more success, he thought   
before rolling over and going to sleep.  
It was still dark when the convoy arrived at its destination and to a still   
sleepy Jonathon and Monica the watch towers, barbed wire and sweeping   
searchlights indicated it was not meant to be a holiday camp.  
The accommodation was another matter, it was quite luxurious. There was   
however, no door handle on the inside of their apartment or prison, and so   
they were locked in.   
“So much for us being allowed to go wherever we like,”  
Jonathon said wryly to his Sergeant, who nodded in agreement.   
After having had a much-needed hot shower, they both felt ravenous, and   
so, they enjoyed an early breakfast of yoghurt, green figs, various fruits and   
strong black coffee, that was waiting for them. They said very little during   
their repast as they were certain the suite was bugged.  
The coffee was very good, and they had soon finished the pot, which was   
unfortunate as the fine coffee also contained a non-lethal dose of pheno-   
barbitone, a tasteless, fast acting and long-lasting sleeping draught   
(possibly Jonathon’s third great mistake?) They were in a deep sleep within   
minutes.  
During the time they were asleep, their clothing containing passports,   
visas, U.S. Dollars and cyanide capsules, were removed and fresh clean   
clothes were left in their place.  
The person concerned also took the opportunity to remove Jonathon’s   
stainless steel Rolex Submariner wrist watch.  
When they awoke at 6p.m. still drowsy, they immediately realised what had   
happened, but luckily, they had not thought to take his boots, which   
contained twenty five gold sovereigns in each boot heel.  
After they were both dressed for dinner, Jonathon had to admit they both   
looked rather fetching. Monica in a traditional Igbo dress that, revealed her   
ample cleavage, and was tight in all the right places, while he was wearing  
a sky blue silk suit with a mandarin collar, and ivory buttons (which were   
not so fetching).  
At precisely 7.30p.m. Two heavily armed guards arrived to escort them to   
their dinner date with Chief Odumegwu Ojukwu, Major General and head of   
the secessionist state of Biafra.  
“My dear Brigadier General, it is a privilege to welcome you and your   
beautiful companion to my humble table”   
the gallant and bearded Chief says while bowing and kissing Monica’s held   
out hand.  
“It is such a pleasure to welcome a fellow Oxford man to my country. I   
believe you were up at Lonsdale,” the Chief says in a very cultured English   
accent.   
(How the hell did he know that? Joan’s the only one I’ve ever told about   
Lonsdale) he is both puzzled and bothered by this revelation.   
“Yes, your Excellency and you were at Lincoln College and studied History   
in 1956 if my memory serves me well.”   
This obviously massaged Ojukwu’s ego and the evening passed very   
cordially, until they were having coffee.   
“I think the time is now past for pussy footing around. As you have probably   
guessed by now, your illegal arrival into Biafra was not unexpected by us,   
and your reason for coming is also well known to us General”  
Jonathon tries to explain that the aircraft was off course, and was forced to   
land by Nigerian jets.  
“I might have been prepared to accept this preposterous story if you had   
not been in the company of 4 members of the British S.A.S., and there was   
of course, a couple of Land Rovers with Nigerian Special Forces drivers   
waiting for you.”  
Ojukwu pauses to tap the ash off of his cigar, while Jonathon valiantly tries   
to maintain it was all a mistake, he had thought the vehicles were from the   
Red Cross, after all he is a Doctor.  
Monica just sits there stoically, with her arms crossed waiting to hear their   
fate.  
“I am not an unreasonable man Smirnov, and as I said I might have been   
prepared to believe you, if it had not been for this.”   
The Major General tosses across a photo- copied K.G.B personnel file,   
Jonathon’s personnel file.   
Jonathon tried not to show how aghast he was, by trying to dismiss it as a   
forgery, but he quickly realised he wasn’t fooling anybody. Damningly a   
copy of the directive to assassinate the Major General, and signed by the   
previous Chairman of the K.G.B. was there together with all of the   
operational details of this ultra secret joint operation with the British. Not   
only this, there was an encyclopaedic account of his personal and physical   
details, profiles and full-face photo’s, and graphic accounts of his love   
affairs, in which the current Chairman expressed his worry about   
Jonathon’s relationship with Joan Thursday, a suspected British Agent,  
which Jonathon thought was ridiculous.  
Jonathon realised that even if he got out of this, his old life was over, now   
that he had been completely exposed,  
Ojukwu would obviously sell the file on to the highest bidder. Leaning back   
on his chair Ojukwu exhaled a cloud of smoke and said in a good humour  
“I would say you’ve been betrayed General, wouldn’t you? But we are   
civilised, the girl will be released in good time,” he says nodding towards   
Monica.  
“And you will get a fair trial; when I return from Israel in two weeks’ time,   
brief but fair, I can promise you that. As I will be the presiding Judge, and   
then my friend you will be beheaded. I think that just about concludes our   
business for this evening.”   
And with that they courteously wish each other goodnight.  
Back in their room they are pleased to find their old battle fatigues freshly   
washed and folded, however their travel documents, currency and capsules   
of last resort are of course missing from the pile.  
They agree they must escape, because neither of them believes for an   
instant that the Sergeant will be spared by Ojukwo.  
Leaving aside for a moment the crush JoJo (their jailer) has on the   
Sergeant, he has 3-character traits that make him an ideal subject to be   
bribed.  
Firstly, he is dishonest, the expensive wristwatch, and cash he stole from   
Jonathon, he kept, instead of passing them on to his superiors, as ordered.  
Secondly, he is stupid, instead of selling the wristwatch which any   
intelligent thief would do, he made a habit of wearing it in the owner’s   
presence.  
Thirdly, he is greedy which he will shortly demonstrate.  
Monica played up to JoJo’s lust for her, and soon she had him eating out of   
her hand, and a deal was struck whereby JoJo agreed that for 6 full gold   
sovereigns (worth about £50 in 1968, an enormous amount in Biafra, where   
the currency had collapsed) he would leave their door ajar, and the door to   
the courtyard unlocked, provide a pair of bolt cutters to deal with the barbed   
wire, and a serviceable vehicle for their getaway.  
Unfortunately, he could not return their British passports, as these had   
already been sold on the thriving black market.  
“One last thing JoJo before I pay you, should you betray us I will make it   
my personal business to have you and your family killed in the most   
unpleasant way I can devise, do you understand?”   
JoJo of course vehemently protested that he would not dream of such a   
thing, and that the General could trust him with his life (Jonathon and   
Monica were not so sure.)  
TWO NIGHTS LATER:  
For a few hours before the time of their escape, they had been studying the   
sweep of the searchlights, and decided they had 12 seconds to cross the   
90 or so yards between the courtyards door and the barbed wire   
covering the courtyard’s wall.  
JoJo made a sudden appearance drunk, and belligerent, and demanding   
another 5 sovereigns before he handed over the bolt cutters and car keys.   
He had obviously been talking to someone who had convinced him he   
should be paid more.  
Jonathon nodded to Monica who promptly punched him just above the   
heart, which stopped it, and then smashed his larynx and neck vertebrae   
with another single punch, to stop him screaming.  
JoJo silently died before his body fell at Monica’s feet.  
“He’s late, I expected him before this,” Jonathon sardonically remarked.  
After slipping his wrist watch over JoJo’s grubby hand, he then took the car   
keys from his even grubbier dungarees. Luckily the vehicle’s registration   
number was written on the key ring.  
“What shall we do with the body Sir?”  
“Let’s leave it in the courtyard; hopefully it’ll create a diversion, and give us   
a bit more time to get away.”  
“He reeks of booze; hopefully they’ll think he’s just passed out.”   
Dragging JoJo the 20 yards from their room to the outside was no mean   
feat as JoJo was a big man, and his boot heels kept getting caught in the   
shabby old floor covering.   
Relieved that JoJo had left the door unlocked, they exited the building, and   
lay his body down in a prominent spot and waited out of sight for it to be   
caught in the beam of the searchlights. They didn’t have to wait long, on   
the 2nd pass the beam stopped over his body, shouting could be heard   
from the watchtower, and a soldier was starting to clamber down.  
“Let’s go” and they raced across the tarmac to the safety of the steel trellis   
frame covered in barbed wire. On the way, Jonathon twisted his left foot   
when it became caught in one of the many potholes scaring the courtyard.   
Jonathon insisted she should go on without him when she came back to   
see what was wrong. Ignoring the car keys, he was holding out for her,   
she heaved him up, and together they hobbled towards their goal. If it   
wasn’t for JoJo’s corpse they would both be dead by now, although   
neither of them gave him a second thought.  
The bolt cutters made short work of the rusty barbed wire, and with a lot of   
help from his Sergeant, Jonathon somehow made it over the top of the wall   
and down the other side.  
The old Ford Anglia they were searching for, had unsurprisingly seen better   
days. after helping her boss into the passenger side, and getting into the   
driver’s side, she asks  
“Where are we going? “  
“North, to Upper Volta” he says.  
Their departure did not go unnoticed.  
To be continued:

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> May not appeal to everyone, but its something different hope you enjoy


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Joan finally finds out the truth about her Jekyll and Hyde boyfriend.Monica and Jonathon set off on a hazardous journey  
> characters Morse, Joan , Monica, Jonathon, Col. Saunder, JoJo, and Major General Ojukwu  
> locations London, West Africa , Tel Aviv.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> have tried to make make this as accurate as possible.

Cafe-au-Lait2 chapter3  
The Tel Aviv Hilton:  
Early August 1968   
The question of what to do with Smirnov/Keyes, and his bodyguard had   
been bothering Ojukwu since their arrival four nights ago, because the   
Major General was first and foremost a pragmatist. He realised that giving   
him back to the Soviets would upset the British and, vice-versa, if he had   
executed them then he would have upset everybody, and so he had turned   
a blind eye to their escape attempt, so they could become someone else’s   
problem, hopefully the French in Upper Volta, whom he heartily disliked.  
The Major General received the phone call he had been waiting for at   
about 4 o’clock in the morning, from his Aide-de-Camp back in Biafra,   
advising that the escape had gone to plan, and that private JoJo Chiedozie   
had been killed in its execution as expected, which had saved him the   
trouble of arranging his demise.  
Ojukwu smiled in satisfaction at his own cleverness, and turned over and   
went back to sleep. 

The London Train:  
Early November 1968  
Joan got ever more apprehensive as the train drew closer to the   
Paddington Terminus, because she believed she might be about to hear   
some bad news about Jonathon from the Colonel. Why else would he want   
to see her?  
But also, because she was sure Morse was holding out on her about  
something important, and this was feeding her fertile imagination.  
Her brief time with Jonathon had been wonderful, and not just for the   
sex, but on the other hand he had caused her so much more worry and  
heart ache than any other man she had ever known. She had not heard   
from him since he had left for that West African hell hole, only a dubious   
post card from the Red Cross advising her of his capture.   
Did he really care that he was breaking her heart? For all his faults she   
knew that Morse was a far better bet as husband material, but she also   
knew that as soon as she saw Jonathon again, she would start to go weak   
at the knees, and that just didn’t happen with Morse.  
Five or six months ago she would have married Jonathon in a heartbeat,   
but now she was not so sure. Morse was here now, when she needed him,   
as he always had been, and probably as he always would be.

London, Whitehall, S.W.I  
Joan walked straight passed the unprepossessing facade to Colonel  
Saunders Office, until Morse pulled her back. A tarnished square brass   
name plate that bore the legend;  
Col. J. Saunders C.B.E D.S. O  
BOARD OF TRADE  
Was the only clue that someone of importance may be inside.  
Joan’s Ordeal:   
Joan was trying to drink a large mug of hot sweet tea, liberally laced with   
brandy, but she was still shaking with shock after it was proved that her   
beloved fiancé, Jonathon, was not just the good Doctor she loved, and was   
so proud of, but a very, very high-ranking Officer of the Soviet espionage   
machine. What made matters worse was that Yevgeny Smirnov, to give   
him his real name, had tried to recruit her into his nest of traitors and spies,   
and she had come under even more suspicion when she innocently tried to   
match Morse with her friend Claudine who turned out to be a Major in the   
K.G.B. She was either going mad or having some insane nightmare, that   
she would hopefully soon wake up from, safe in Jonathon’s arms.  
“Leaving Smirnov aside for the moment have you any idea of the   
whereabouts of your friend Claudine Duval”  
Morse tried to intervene but was peremptorily told to shut up or leave by the   
Colonel.  
Joan confirmed what Morse had told him several weeks ago that as far as   
she knew Claudine was in South Vietnam, working as a war photographer   
and correspondent, but she had no proof of this.  
Saunders seemed satisfied by this, and was just about to go back to   
reading aloud from a statement dictated by Brigadier General Smirnov to   
the British Consul for Upper Volta.  
Morse asked if anything was known about the mysterious body guard who   
was his constant companion.  
“Only what little information we have received from M.I.6. Female,  
about 25-30, possibly of Caribbean extraction, and a trained nurse,  
but we’re not certain of any of it, really.”  
After answering Morse, Colonel Saunders continued reading from  
the statement.  
“The distance between Enugu and Ouagadougou is almost 800miles  
and so, the chances of us making it to Upper Volta in a clapped out  
Ford Anglia with a ½ tank of petrol was zero.  
We had an ancient Webley service revolver with a full chamber, that  
we had taken off JoJo’s body (our jailer), and so we decided to hi-jack  
something more serviceable. About 20 miles out of town we spotted  
a Land Rover Mk2 up ahead, parked just off the dirt road, my Sergeant   
went to investigate. Two Biafran soldiers appeared, and dragged her into   
the back of the vehicle with the intention of rape. By the time I got there   
with my gammy foot, Borzoi was searching the bodies for anything we   
could use on our journey. She found 2 loaded revolvers, some worthless   
Biafran pounds, and a couple of Nigerian chocolate bars, which tasted   
disgustingly sweet to us, but we were both very hungry, and so we  
wolfed them down with relish. Searching the vehicle proved more   
productive for us, 3x 5-gallon jerry cans of petrol, 1x 5-gallon jerry can   
of fresh water, and a comprehensive toolkit, gave us a real chance of   
making it to the border.”   
It was now 4 p.m., and Saunders called a halt to his reading, and phoned   
his secretary to order tea and biscuits, he also opened his wall safe, and   
took out a plain white envelope addressed to “Joan,” hand written with a   
fountain pen.  
Joan took the envelope with a shaking hand knowing it came from   
Jonathon. As she started to open it Saunders cut in,  
“I’d rather you didn’t open it until I’ve finished Miss Thursday”  
“You’ve read my letter haven’t you, how bloody dare you?” she  
said angrily, taking the Colonel aback.  
Morse puts a kindly hand on her shoulder and says,  
“Because that’s what people like him do Joan.”  
Joan sat there silently with her arms folded, looking daggers at the Colonel   
for the rest of the tea break.  
“I will carry on if everybody has calmed down,” he says looking pointedly at   
Joan.  
“We decided that Borzoi should pose as a Biafran soldier escorting  
me to a Red Cross hospital, and so we stripped the uniforms off of the   
soldiers she had killed, and then hid the bodies in the jungle.  
We tore some of the cloth into strips to bind my swollen ankle, and  
Borzoi changed unhappily into one of the filthy uniforms.  
We were stopped only once by a road block, they were not looking   
for trouble, and they were very drunk so we were able to go peacefully on   
our way pretty quickly.  
“A hundred miles or so from the border, there was a fork in the road.  
We had no map, and there was no sign post, and so after conferring we  
decided to toss a Biafran coin, and Ojukwu’s head came up, which   
should have been a warning to us, but we turned left anyway.  
Borzoi was getting very tired as she had been driving for more than  
10 hours, and the track was getting narrower, so we decided to turn   
back, and take the other branch after we had had a few hours’ sleep.  
We must have slept for longer than we meant to, it was now almost light,   
and we were abruptly woken by shouting and banging on the sides of our   
vehicle. Outside there was a rag-tag army of natives dressed in a motley   
collection of military uniforms, all brandishing firearms and machetes,   
demanding that we open the doors.  
There were far too many of them to risk driving through, and so there was   
no option for us but to get out, and take our chance.  
The men who had captured us had sworn allegiance to a local Warlord  
called Butalezi, who later made it clear he owed his allegiance to no one.  
Their base was centred on an abandoned Nigerian Field Hospital, which   
had obviously been left in a great hurry. We would discover later that the   
hospital was amazingly well equipped.  
Chief Butalezi soon made himself known to us. Our Land Rover, petrol and   
weapons had all been seized, and unless we could give him a good reason   
why not, we would both be shot as spies.   
I explained to him that we were not spies; we were Medics on our way to   
Upper Volta.  
“If you are who you say you are, you will be able to save the lives of my   
wife and child, if not, you shall be beheaded for lying to me.”  
“It seemed their Medicine Man could not help her, and was in a similar   
predicament to me. The Chief generously agreed that the Medicine Man   
would be let off the hook if we succeeded in saving her.   
The patient, one of the Chief’s wives was pregnant, and the child was in a   
breech position, and so I had to perform a Caesarean section to save all   
our lives, If I failed, I would end up deader than JoJo, and from the way he   
was looking at her, Petrushka would probably be the Chief’s next wife.   
It was a close call; we had to give her a blood transfusion, my group is “O”   
which usually everyone can tolerate, but it was still a risky business, and   
the 2 pints I gave her were more than I should have done.  
Well, we all survived, and I was able to present the Chief with his first son   
after 5 daughters”  
Morse looked at Joan, and he could see she was going gooey-eyed over  
her Jekyll and Hyde boyfriend, would she ever learn he thought?   
“A few days after the operation Butalezi’s wife was a lot better, and so  
they told me that Petrushka and I were the guests of honour for a big  
celebration. They also told me that because I had given my own blood to   
save her, I was going to be declared her honorary son.  
This meant I became an Honorary Chief of the tribe.  
During the feast Butalezi told me that as I was now a Chief, I could marry   
his youngest daughter Tillie who was 16 and very pretty, I was also told   
that if I refused it would be regarded as a very grave insult.  
Tillie and I were married in front of the whole tribe by the Medicine Man.  
After the ceremony we were carried on chairs to our own hut where I was   
expected to consummate our marriage, which I managed to do several   
times.  
I was later told by Petrushka that this was all about Butalezi wanting the   
status of a grandchild with blonde hair and blue eyes.”  
Morse sneaked a look at Joan who now had a face like thunder, from   
Hero to Zero he smugly thought.  
“Things went well for the next 2 weeks, I rested my foot, and enjoyed my   
first taste of domestic bliss with Tillie. We also took over the medical side of   
camp life, establishing a thriving clinic which made the Medicine Man   
redundant and very unhappy.  
I then suffered a recurrence of Malaria, but much worse than before.  
Tillie was an angel, and tended to my every need while Petrushka looked   
after the Clinic, only referring to me in an emergency.  
I decided that jungle life was not me; I was too prone to the many diseases   
and infections that were prevalent in the bush, but in the event the choice   
would all too soon be taken out of my hands.”  
Colonel Saunders asked Joan If she was ok to carry on, as she was clearly   
very distressed by these revelations. Joan replied while wiping her eyes   
with a damp hanky.

“I’m fine, let’s get it over with, but a coffee would be nice if you don’t mind,   
and Morse would you hold my hand please.”  
After a 15 minute break Saunders continued reading.  
“At the end of what I guessed was September, two important things   
happened to me, firstly Tillie told me that I was going to be a father,  
secondly the camp was overrun by the Nigerian Army, and the Red Cross,   
eager to reclaim the Hospital for its own use. The tribe’s people were all   
rounded up, and taken away in lorries to supposedly be resettled, God   
knows where. I never saw Tillie go or had a chance to rescue her. I   
managed to save Petrushka by bribing her guard with a gold sovereign,   
and then for the first time in my life I cried my eyes out, I must be going   
soft.  
I got talking to a Red Cross Driver who was going to Ouagadougou to pick   
up supplies, and he would be glad of the company.....for a price. He also   
agreed to send a card to Joan Thursday to let her know I was alive, but a   
prisoner of war of the Nigerian Army......again for a price.  
The driver gave us Red Cross caps, and armbands, Petrushka spoke some   
French, so we crossed our fingers, and hoped for the best.  
At the border post the old Bedford truck was thoroughly searched by the   
guards, who then switched their attention to us or rather Petrushka. They   
eventually got bored because they couldn’t get a reaction from her, or find   
anything to steal, so after what seemed a lifetime, we were allowed to go   
on our way.  
It was early in the evening when the driver dropped us off at the Hospital in   
Ouagadougou. Petrushka and I had to go our separate ways, we split the   
remaining sovereigns, shook hands, and saluted. I checked myself into the   
Hospital to have my ankle and malaria treated. I was a patient for about   
three weeks before I was discharged. I then made my way to the British   
Consulate, where I am now, and all things considered I have been treated   
very well.   
In answer to your questions about the whereabouts and operational orders   
my Sergeant might or might not have – No Comment. “

Colonel Saunders turned over the last page of the document, folded it   
neatly before putting it in its envelope, and then he deposited it into the   
safe.  
Joan took this as a cue to open her own letter.  
To be continued:

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, had to extend it to 4 chapters


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Joan & Morse go on a dangerous journey  
> characters: Joan, morse, Col. Saunders, jonathon keyes, sister adele

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Upper Volta Is now called Burkina Faso

Cafe- au- Lait2 Chapter 4 

Col. Saunders Office  
Whitehall  
London S.W.1  
Early November 1968

Much to everyone’s surprise Joan was resisting the temptation to tear open   
the letter her lover had sent her, instead she gave it a thorough   
examination, to make sure it was definitely written by him.  
The envelope itself was tamper proof with a “Via Diplomatic Bag” stamp in   
the bottom left hand corner.  
The Coat of Arms of the Foreign Office was engraved on the gummed flap,   
finally, there was a red wax seal at the apex of the flap, which appeared to   
be intact, but it was not quite right, she just couldn’t see what was wrong   
with it.

Joan gingerly broke the seal, and took out the single sheet of plain  
foolscap writing paper. 

The elegant script was beyond doubt Jonathon’s,

My Darling Joan  
Well, you know everything about me by now, the good, the bad, and   
the ugly, sadly with me the emphasis is on the bad and the ugly.  
For my part I will always love you, but the choice of where we go from  
here is yours. I believe, for what it is worth, that it is still not too late for us   
to have a wonderful life together, but first I need to ask you to be my go-   
between; there is nobody else I can trust except you, but I can’t in all   
honesty give you a reason why you should do what I am going to ask of   
you.  
I am willing to defect to the U.K., and share my very considerable   
knowledge of the Soviet Union’s intelligence network.   
My fee is $100, 000-00, to be paid in blue white, flawless, brilliant cut   
diamonds, each to be no more or no less than 1.00ct-1.25ct.   
They are to be delivered to me at the British Consulate in Ouagadougou by   
you, and one other person of your choice.  
I know from experience that the diplomatic bag cannot be trusted.  
So, I will need a sturdy brief case with a bracelet and chain for transporting   
the diamonds, on our journey back to the U.K.  
After depositing the diamonds in my safety deposit box, I will hand myself   
over to your Special Branch for interrogation.  
Regardless of the outcome, I will always be yours,  
Jonathon.

After reading the letter through carefully, several times, Joan reluctantly   
hands the letter over to Saunders, who passes it straight over to Morse.

“Yes, you were quite right Miss Thursday, as you very astutely guessed,  
I read this missive some days ago with a colleague from M.I.6.   
You should have checked the wax seal more carefully, it was   
not properly embossed. The real question now however is what are you   
going to do? Help your fiancé or leave him to rot in Upper Volta, and  
deny your country intelligence of inestimable value, in case you haven’t   
noticed we are losing the Cold War Miss Thursday.”

“Of course I am going, if for no other reason that I will get the chance to   
slap that bastard’s pretty face as hard as I can.”  
“You must be stark staring mad Joan to risk your life for that arsehole, you   
must know he’s only using you?”

This argument between Morse and Joan went on for a little while, and in   
the end Joan got her own way, as she usually did with Morse, and he  
finally agreed to go with her, much against his better judgement.

“Excellent, I took the liberty of making all the arrangements for your trip to   
Upper Volta, everything is here ready for you.”

The Colonel took an oblong re-enforced attaché case out of a locked   
drawer of his desk. He opened the combination locks, and then the lid.   
First of all, he took out a leather zipped box, inside there were over 100   
carefully folded oblongs of blue and white diamond papers each containing   
a single gem stone, together with a receipt and valuation from De Beers &   
Co.

“We understand from the passport office at Petty France that you both  
possess current 10 year passports, so it’s best if you use those.   
The passport we have for Mr. Keyes is very convincing as I am sure you  
will both agree, it has various immigration stamps, including a forged entry   
and Visa stamp for Upper Volta. It also looks reassuringly dog-eared. Your   
Visas are here, with your economy class Air France airline tickets. You will   
need some cash, so there’s 2,000-00 French Francs (£200-00), and last   
but not least 10 gold sovereigns, last resort money, please hide them well.  
Tomorrow is Sunday, your flight to Paris leaves Monday at midday. Your   
direct flight to Ouagadougou leaves Orly Airport at 6p.m. European time.   
The flight takes approximately 7 hours. On your return you will be met at   
the Hertz car rental office in the main concourse at Heathrow Airport.  
Two last very important points, when Smirnov gets the diamonds valued,   
you must not let them out of your sight. He will realise half are missing; tell   
him he will get the rest when we get what we want. He can take it or leave   
it. Don’t look so worried Morse you’ll be in the British Consul won’t you;   
they’ll take care of you.”

Colonel Saunders looked at his watch, and ordered them a car to take   
them back to Oxford, and after asking if there were any more questions, he   
wished them both Bon Chance! This didn’t make Morse feel any better   
about their enterprise.

On the way back to Oxford Joan and Morse remained silent as they didn’t   
trust anyone connected to Saunders’ organisation. They were dropped off   
at Morse’s flat, as Joan didn’t want to be alone with their creepy driver, or   
for him to know where she lived in Oxford.

Morse’s flat:

“Come in Joan; let’s see what sort of a job they have done.”  
“Apart from some minor decorating it looks and smells fine to me”  
While Morse gets his overnight bag together, Joan made them both  
tea and sandwiches. Soon they were sitting down at the table enjoying their   
snack, discussing the day’s events in detail, and speculating about what   
Monday may bring.

Unfortunately, every word they said was overheard.

K.G.B. Headquarters  
Lubyanka Sq. 2  
Moscow

Comrade Chairman Yuri Andropov, had been woken from a deep sleep by   
his Chief of Staff to be told that there was news from Oxford, and it was   
not good. General Smirnov was in the process of defecting to the U.K, and   
yes, he was convinced the information was reliable.

The lights at Lubyanka burned long and bright in the boardroom that night,   
as the twelve members of the Inner Committee chaired by Comrade   
Chairman Andropov decided what to do about the “Smirnov Question”   
A popular idea was to kidnap and ransom Joan, Morse and the diamonds   
of course, in exchange for the traitor Brigadier General Yevgeny Smirnov,   
but it was quickly dismissed, and the simpler option of assassination was  
finally agreed upon. 

The General who ran the “Illegals” told the Assembly he had the ideal   
candidate for this operation, and so the matter was gratefully left in his   
hands to sort out, and to take any credit or blame.

While this was going on Morse and Joan slept soundly in their respective   
beds at Joan’s flat, unaware of the drama taking place 1800 miles to the   
east of Oxford.

Heathrow Airport:

The red briefcase had a chain and bracelet attachment, which Morse   
thought made it stand out like a sore thumb, and so he used it as a decoy  
packing it with their toiletries, while the diamonds, sovereigns and travel   
documents were safely placed at the bottom of Joan’s fashionable and   
capacious bucket bag.

Their first job on arrival at Heathrow was to locate the Hertz rental office,   
looking for it when they arrived back did not seem like a good idea to either   
of them.

Joan and Morse were enjoying coffee, and a slice of cake in the airport’s   
crowded coffee bar, as they waited for their flight to be called, when a late   
middle aged Franciscan Nun asked if she could join them. After   
introductions had been made, it seemed that coincidentally she was also   
on her way to Ouagadougou to teach in a newly built Catholic School   
there. Joan responded by rashly telling her about meeting her Fiancé in the   
British Consul, when a hard kick from Morse stopped her in her tracks, but   
the damage was already done. 

Shortly afterwards the Nun said “God Bless, have a safe journey,”  
and Sister Adele was off saying she had an important phone call to make.

Back at the Coffee bar Joan and Morse were left with the uncomfortable   
feeling that the Nun was vaguely familiar, and not what she seemed to be.   
They both put it down to nerves caused by their hazardous undertaking. 

“BonJour Maurice, ici Adele. The wedding is definitely on, I repeat the   
wedding is definitely on. The guests of honour are leaving shortly to meet   
the Groom as we expected.”   
“Merci Adele, bon voyage.”

The Nun hung up the receiver, heard her flight was being called, and   
hurried off to join the queue for Passport Control

To Be Continued

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for stickimg with it


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Morse and Joan arrive in Africa, an old enemy returns.Jonathon is up to something

Cafe-au-lait2 Chapter 5  
The British Consulate:  
Ouagadougou  
Monday morning  
While Joan and Morse were enjoying their coffee and cake at Heathrow   
Airport, Jonathon was surprised to hear from one of the porters that he had   
for the first time a visitor, and it turned out to be the last person on earth   
that he expected. Pushing open the double doors of the plush Reception   
Room, he was confronted by a tall, thin, dreadlocked figure who was   
dressed in a patched up and dusty morning suit complete with a dented top   
hat. He was sitting, lotus style, on the green Chesterfield sofa, smoking a   
gigantic joint, and generally making himself at home.

Tillie had told him that the Medicine Man thought he was the reincarnation   
of Baron Samedi, the Voodoo god of the dead in the Caribbean island of   
Haiti. All nonsense of course, but he certainly looked and smelled the part,   
if nothing else.

On Jonathon’s entry into the room, the Medicine Man stood up and bowed   
theatrically to Jonathon. When they were both seated the Medicine Man   
said,

“I have come to repay my debt to you, for saving the life of Chief   
Buthelezi’s wife and child, which saved mine,”   
he said softly in the Caribbean patois that he liked to affect.

Ten minutes later he had finished relating his tale to Jonathon, and   
rose to his full height, shook Jonathon by the hand, and said he hoped to   
see him again soon.

Jonathon knew that he was the last person the Medicine Man would want   
to do a favour for, because of the bad blood there had been between them,   
but he felt in the circumstances he had no other option but to trust him. 

Although he was old enough to be her Grandfather or more, that didn’t stop   
him having the hots for Tillie in a big way, and her being the Chief’s   
daughter was a handy bonus. In his eyes, when Jonathon came along, he   
took the place in Tillie’s affections that was rightfully his, although in reality   
she wouldn’t look at him twice, what young girl would?  
His real bone of contention though was the free Clinic Jonathon ran with   
Monica. No one wanted to pay for his dodgy Juju medicine any more, when   
they could get the real thing for nothing from the Clinic. This not only   
robbed him of income, but the status he prized above all else.

Jonathon had no doubts he may be walking into a trap, but the Medicine   
Man knew his weak spot, and he knew that Jonathon would not just walk   
away from his responsibilities.

One thing Jonathon didn’t know about him was, that for some years he had   
supplemented his income by being a spy and informer for the Soviet Union,   
and Jonathon’s identity was already known to him when he was taken   
prisoner by Chief Buthelezi’s men. The Medicine man was handsomely   
paid by the Commissar at the Embassy for passing on the Brigadier  
General and his Sergeant’s whereabouts.

The Flight from Heathrow to Ouagadougou:  
One thing Morse failed to understand was, why so many people wanted to   
travel to a place most people have never heard of, and even fewer of them   
could spell. They couldn’t all have been talked into it by a beautiful brunette   
with big blue eyes, who was in love with someone else, could they?  
he pondered while taking his seat in the Boeing 707.   
During their 13- or 14-hour journey, they were constantly bumping into   
Sister Adele, it almost seemed as if she was spying on them, did she know   
about the diamonds? Was she casing them for a robbery, or was it just   
their imagination?  
Time would tell.

Passing her seat, on his way to the rest room he noticed she was   
engrossed in a biography of Josef Stalin printed in Russian.  
Hardly appropriate reading for a nun Morse mused.  
He didn’t mention it to Joan, who was jumpy enough already, (mostly from   
the thought of seeing her fiancé again, and what she was planning to do   
when she did.)

He just continued to keep a close eye on Joan’s bucket bag.

Towards the end of the 2nd leg of their interminable journey to West Africa,   
Morse got bored of doing crosswords from his book of fiendishly hard   
puzzles, and decided to study a guide book, complete with road maps of   
Ouagadougou in English that he surprisingly managed to find at Orly   
Airport. 

At the end of their flight, they were struggling down the aisle to disembark   
the aircraft when Joan remarked to Morse,   
“Sister Adele is fast asleep; do you think we should wake her?”

“She’s probably just waiting for the crowds to disperse, the  
stewardess will look after her, if she is feeling poorly.”

Ouagadougou:  
Passing through Customs was not too bad, the French Customs Officers   
were bored and tired after a long shift. The sovereigns and French Francs   
that Morse had put in his pockets, when they disembarked the aircraft were   
missed by the French, and the Officer in charge was won over by Joan’s   
smile.  
Similarly, the briefcase Morse was carrying in his left hand, and chained to   
his wrist, only raised a few eyebrows when it was found to only contain   
ladies’ toiletries.  
The Officer dealing with Joan was a bit more vigilant than the others, and   
discovered the little brown leather box.  
She told him that the gems were paste, to be used by a jewellery making   
class in a local primary school.

The Customs Officer was not entirely convinced, but he did not want to do   
the necessary paperwork to detain them while the gems were investigated.

After all, the Customs Officer reasoned, that in all his years of experience,   
no one had ever smuggled diamonds into Upper Volta, but plenty had tried   
to smuggle them out, and so he let Joan leave with her box of contraband   
diamonds intact.

They finally left the hell hole that was the Ouagadougou International   
Airport, to the sound of ambulance bells, and Police sirens.   
On board the aircraft, aircrew and a doctor that had happened to be on   
board, were struggling to revive a late middle-aged nun, who they   
discovered on closer inspection was closer to 29 than 59 when her make   
up was removed. They still thought she had suffered a heart attack, but if   
they had smelt the coffee, that a kind middle aged English gent had bought   
for her, the faint smell of bitter almonds would have betrayed the culprit as   
cyanide.

Just as promised there was a car from the Consulate waiting outside the   
main Terminus for them, the driver was holding up a board saying Joan   
Thursday, and just to be sure Morse asked the driver, who rejoiced in the   
name of Moses Kitomba to show him his I.D. which was hanging from a   
lanyard round his neck.

Morse and Joan were feeling a bit silly, if not guilty about their suspicions of   
Sister Adele, and so they asked the driver to wait while they looked for her,   
to offer her a lift, but there was no sign of her anywhere. 

The British Consulate:  
The Consulate was by outward appearances much more suitable as an   
Embassy. Until 1919 it was the old German Embassy, and was recognised   
as one of the most imposing and grandiose residences in Upper Volta.   
The Virginia creeper, Ivy and Wisteria clad walls were especially admired,   
as were the extensive gardens. It was rumoured that on Independence the   
new Government would seize the old building to use as the new   
Presidential Palace.

When Joan and Morse finally arrived, very early on Tuesday morning, the   
building was in darkness, and the doorbell took a little while to find.  
The heavy ornate oak door slowly opened, and Jonathon was suddenly   
there looking just as gorgeous as Joan remembered him to be.   
He had obviously been waiting up for the weary travellers, and said after   
giving Joan a big hug, and a kiss on the lips.

“My darling Joan you look marvellous. I’ve missed you so much. Thank   
you for coming, how was your journey?”

Before Joan could answer him, he turned to face Morse, and held out his   
hand to him.

“I’m Yevgeny Smirnov, but you may know me better as Jonathon Keyes,   
perhaps Joan has mentioned me to you?”  
he said in a condescending voice to an unimpressed Morse.

Morse ignored the outstretched hand and said, somewhat bitterly,  
“I can assure you Mr Keyes that for the last week or two, Joan has   
mentioned little else, I hope you plan to treat her better this time round.   
You really don’t know how lucky you are do you?”

This little exchange earned Morse a sharp dig in the ribs, and a baleful   
glare from an annoyed and embarrassed Joan.

“I expect you’re both very tired from your journey, so shall I show you to   
your rooms?”

“I’m not tired at all Jonathon, in fact I think it’s high time we had a little chat,   
but not until after this....”  
with that Joan gives Keyes an almighty whack in the mouth with her left fist,   
and her engagement ring draws blood from his swollen lips.

Morse feels like applauding, but diplomatically retires to his room when a   
member of staff arrives to show him the way.   
Soon a tearful Joan is embracing her fiancé, kissing his wounded face, and   
contrarily accusing him of being a complete bastard to her, while telling him   
how much she has missed him.

The next morning Morse guesses they must have patched things up, and   
spent the night together when they came downstairs for breakfast holding   
hands. Joan had a rosy glow on her cheeks, and he had an insufferable   
smirk on his face.

Morse smiled to himself thinking that he knew something that would soon   
wipe the smile from Smirnov’s smug face.

Although Jonathon was technically under house arrest, the staff in effect   
turned a blind eye to his comings and goings, but because he knew Joan   
would want to come too, he complained he was suffering from the side   
effects of the Malaria pills he had to take, and needed to lie down in a  
darkened room for a little while. After their night of passion Jonathon was   
firmly back in Joan’s good books, and she was just concerned for his   
welfare so she promptly agreed to his request, adding she would call him   
for lunch.

Jonathon’s room was on the 2nd floor of the 3-storey building, and his   
window looked out onto where the wall covering plants were thickest.

He locked his bedroom door from the inside, and then he quickly started to   
rifle through Joan’s bucket bag. He knew it was there because she had told   
him, and there it was his new passport. Flicking through, Jonathon was   
impressed by the wonderfully professional job they had made of it.  
Laughing to himself he decided to take Morse’s as well. One more thing to   
find, the French Francs, and there they were, tucked away in a zipped   
compartment, not wanting to be greedy he only took half.

Even with his troublesome ankle, he had become adept at shinning up and   
down the various creepers. Usually after dark to visit the local red-light   
district where he had spent most of his remaining sovereigns, and become  
very popular with the girls who plied their trade there.  
But this morning he had more serious work to do. 

He knew the back streets like the palm of his own hand, and soon arrived   
at the coffee shop where old mercenaries, and ex- foreign legionnaires   
gathered to drink the blackest of black coffee, fight old battles against the   
Rif, and talk of their days in the O.A.S, the organisation which terrorised   
France in the early 1960’s.   
Jonathon was well known in this dive, and he soon negotiated the sale of a   
PA MAC 50, a semi-automatic pistol with 250 rounds of ammunition, a firm  
favourite with legionnaires since 1950. Bidding farewell to these old rogues   
he made his way to his last port of call which was far less colourful.

A second-hand car dealership, which hired out barely road worthy wrecks   
on the side.  
The choice available was many and varied, without a road worthiness   
certificate in sight.

He finally settled on hiring a scruffy World War 2 Willeys jeep, which   
probably last saw action at the battle of El Alamein.  
He used Morse’s passport as I.D. (no one of course checked it.)  
Trying to keep a straight face, he next had to fill in the pointless paperwork,   
before paying the rental fee, and driving back to the Consulate for his last   
appointment of the day.

On the way back he joined the chaotic queue at the town’s only gas station   
to fill up with petrol, oil and water, and to pump up the jeep’s bald tyres.

At the far end of the Consulate gardens was a tumble down disused garage   
with a drive leading out to the pot-holed road. Jonathon pulled open the   
rotting wooden doors, and parked his Jeep inside. As a precaution he   
disabled it by removing the rota arm, and wrapping his semi- automatic and   
ammunition in an old sack, he left them in the darkest corner of the old   
garage.

Thinking that the time must be getting on, he glanced at his Rolex and   
realised it was almost lunch time.

He ran across the lawn as fast as a man with a dodgy ankle can, leapt on   
to the wall plants, and began to climb as fast he could.  
He knew Joan would be up to wake him in a few minutes. It was almost a   
disaster half way up when he missed his footing and almost fell to the   
ground.   
Scrambling through the open window, he rushed over to unlock the door,   
then put the money he had left, and the passports back in Joan’s bag.  
Diving into bed he wrapped himself in a blanket and pretended to be   
asleep. Unfortunately, he forgot he had left his muddy boots on, and he   
could hear Joan coming up the stairs talking to Morse.

TO BE CONTINUED

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jonathon is caught out by Joan  
> some heart to hearts  
> some new characters  
> morse suspects something

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> places are accurate  
> maybe the penultimate episode  
> a bit fluffy in places

Cafe-Au-Lait2 Chapter 6  
The British Consulate:  
Ouagadougou  
Upper Volta  
November 1968

“Jonathon, what the hell are you doing wearing those dirty combat boots in  
our bed, and on my side too.”  
Joan says appalled at the sight of them on the clean Egyptian cotton  
sheets.  
Jonathon has to think quickly, but fails to come up with a convincing  
excuse.  
“Sorry, I didn’t feel very well; I must have forgotten I had them on, and then  
fallen asleep ....... But never mind about that I have got a really nice  
surprise for you”  
Jonathon says brightly, desperately trying to change the subject.

“Well, it certainly is a surprise; I’ve never known anyone who wears muddy  
boots in bed except you, it seems.” 

Jonathon just shrugs his shoulders in embarrassment at being caught red  
handed by Joan.  
She feels a slight breeze, and turns round to see the sash window open.  
On examining the wooden frame, she finds mud on it which looks  
suspiciously like it came from off of his boots.  
“It seems you felt well enough to clamber about outside, are you truly  
insane Jonathon? You could have broken your neck or at the very least,  
made that ankle of yours much worse, by climbing up and down that wall,  
supposing you fell off? You’re not thirteen anymore, when are you going to  
grow up?”

Joan pauses to give him time to reply, and when he doesn’t, she continues  
to question him.

“Come on what is this surprise you’re willing to risk your life and limbs for?  
I have to warn you I don’t particularly like surprises, especially the sort I’m  
likely to get from you.”  
Joan says this with an exasperated look on her face, and a determined  
tone to her voice.

“You’ll have to wait until after lunch, then all will be revealed.”  
Jonathon says while changing the offending footwear.

Joan playfully tries to wheedle it out of him, which develops into a wrestling  
match. Just when it is getting interesting Morse walks in unannounced,  
causing Joan to roll her eyes and say rather tetchily.  
“For god’s sake Morse can’t you knock?”

“Pardon me; but lunch is ready, that is, unless you’ve got something better  
to do,” he says huffily, while walking out of their bedroom.

During lunch, Jonathon announces that he has arranged for a diamond  
dealer to examine the stones that are to be his payment for defecting to the  
U.K., He goes on to thank the Consul and his wife for their hospitality, and  
confirms they will be leaving for London first thing tomorrow morning.

Sir Bernard and his wife are old school, and disapprove intensely of this  
Soviet thug who has been forced upon them by his boss, The Foreign  
Secretary, Michael Stewart, who has authorised this sordid deal, which  
has completely bypassed normal diplomatic channels.  
Although he can see the whole thing ending in tears, he has decided to  
keep out of it for the sake of propriety, and the handsome civil service  
pension, he will be receiving shortly.

The dealers name was Isaac Weiss, and he was a prominent member of  
the Hassidic Jewish community. Mr Weiss was also known as a man who  
liked to make a deal, he was due to arrive at 10pm, and he was  
expecting to finish his appraisal by midnight. 

the Consul was not happy about this high handedness in turning his  
Consulate into a place of commerce, but they would all be gone tomorrow,  
and things would be back to normal.

After lunch Morse asked Joan if she would like to do some sightseeing and  
shopping around town. He planned to buy her a small gift by way of an  
apology for blundering in on them earlier.

“I’m awfully sorry Morse, but I think Jonathon has already got something  
arranged for us, but thanks for asking.”  
She says this looking expectantly over to Jonathon, hoping he would ask  
Morse to come along with them.

Jonathon really does not want Morse to know anything about the Jeep, and  
he needs to speak to her in private.

“I’d invite you too, but I’m sure you wouldn’t want to be seen to be a  
gooseberry, would you Morse?”  
Jonathon says with that smirk on his face that Morse is looking forward to  
wiping off.

Once Morse had left for his walk into Ouagadougou Town Jonathon asks  
Joan,  
“Shall we go for a walk in the garden there is something there I want you to  
see?”

“To be honest, I thought you had something planned that was a bit more  
exciting. I think I would rather walk round town with Morse and his guide  
book.”  
Joan says sarcastically.

After strolling hand in hand around the well-kept gardens, and indulging in  
some friendly banter, they finally arrive at the old crumbling garage where  
the old Jeep is parked.

“So, this is what you wanted to show me?” Joan says in disbelief.

“Patience Joan, once I can get these bloody doors open” ….

Suddenly he curses profanely when he realises, he has got a splinter from  
trying to open the mouldy old garage doors with no gloves on.  
Joan tells him not to be such a baby, while teasing the offending sliver of  
wood from his thumb with a pair of tweezers from her make up bag.

“Do you want me to kiss it better? “She asks cheekily.

Not getting an answer to her question, she goes on to try and provoke her  
fiancé, because she loves to tease him.

“So where are we going in this decrepit old jalopy, it looks a bit past it to  
me, I hope you won’t expect me to push it every time it breaks down?  
She stops to think ...

“You are supposed to be under house arrest you know, that means  
you’re not allowed to leave the grounds of the Consulate Jonathon.”

“Sod that Joan, look, are you coming or not? Don’t worry yourself about  
the jeep, it’ll be fine, I’ve driven far worse.”  
A peeved Jonathon says to her while she is looking askance at the state  
of the balding tyres.

Joan looks up from inspecting the tyres and retorts.  
“Well, I can believe that.”

Her frustrated fiancé replies,  
“Look, I thought it would be a shame for you to come to West Africa, and  
not see any of it, that’s all. So, for heaven’s sake throw that blanket and  
your handbag in the back, and let’s get going.”  
Joan kisses him on the cheek, apologises not very sincerely for winding  
him up, and off they go.

They had a lovely afternoon touring round Ouagadougou old town, and  
giving an astonished Morse a cheery wave from the old Jeep. Heading  
North East towards the Mali border and the Cascade mountains, Jonathon  
decided to stop halfway to their destination Mount Tenakourout, the  
highest peak in West Africa, at a small shack that was a café, (which  
was obviously used just by the locals) to buy ice cold Cokes, and the  
local delicacy, dried mangoes dipped in a dark rich chocolate sauce.  
Joan, who had never tasted mango before thought they were absolutely  
sensational.

The drive up to the summit was difficult for the jeep, and the driver, but they  
eventually made it, the view was stupendous, and Jonathon pointed out  
many places of interest. When Joan had seen everything, it was nearly  
dusk, so they snuggled together under the blanket to watch the sunset,  
and Joan had never felt so in love.

She decided to tell Jonathon her deepest secret, which she had refused to  
do in the Randolph Hotel where they first met, all those months ago.  
When she had finished telling him about Leamington, Ray, her miscarriage,  
the part Morse had played in all of this, and why he was such a good friend  
to her, she nervously asked Jonathon if he still felt the same about her, and  
instead of answering her he gave her a long lingering kiss and they ended  
up making love in the last rays of the setting sun.

It was to be one of the happiest moments in Joan’s life.

Jonathon, however felt a complete heel, because he knew that after  
tonight, if his plans worked out, he would never see Joan again. 

When they were nearly home, Jonathon stopped the jeep, turned to face  
Joan, and confessed to her that he would be leaving that night, and he  
begged her that when they returned to the Consulate, she must back him  
up, and say that the Jeep had been given back to the hire company.

Jonathon was very serious when he said,  
“Diamonds or money has never played a part in this; I know the British  
Secret Service would never let me keep them. I was desperate to see you  
again, and to get a British passport.  
If I get taken back to the U.K., I will be tortured if it’s thought necessary,  
and when they have rinsed me for every scrap of information, I will be shot  
in the back of the head, and tossed into an unmarked grave. I know,  
because that’s what I would do if I was in their place.” 

Jonathon pauses to light a very uncharacteristic cigarette, while Joan is  
looking stunned, and close to tears as her hopes for a new life with  
Jonathon is quickly turning to ashes.

“What..., what do you plan to do now,” she stammers.

“Leave about 3 a.m. and head for Rhodesia, I am sure they won’t ask too  
many questions there, get a job as a Doctor if I can or even join their army;  
I don’t really know yet Joan. When I think it’s safe, I’ll send for you to join  
me, that is of course if you want to. The decision will be yours.”

Joan begs him to take her with him, but Jonathon refuses on the grounds  
that it was far too dangerous, and she must wait to hear from him. Joan  
agrees, but in her heart, she knows that their last chance of happiness  
together has gone, but she would always have her memories of that  
sunset on Mount Tenakourout.

The Jeep is safely parked in the garage, and they are walking back to the  
Villa. Joan is still trying to convince him to let her go with him to Rhodesia.  
She even threatens to betray him to the Consul in her desperation.

“In that case you will be signing my death warrant”  
he says grimly.

With that Joan decides to make the most of what little time they have left  
together, and gives up badgering him.

As they approach the villa from the lawn, Morse is standing at the front  
door, much as Fred would have done when Joan was a teenager, back  
late from her first date.

“Can you spare a few minutes Joan...., in private please”  
Morse is pointedly referring to her fiancé. Morse gently pulls her aside, as  
Jonathon diplomatically makes his way upstairs to get ready for dinner.

“We have unexpected visitors Joan, Colonel Saunders with one of his  
gorillas, probably to make sure Jonathon doesn’t do a runner at the last  
minute. Listen, has he got that old wreck hidden somewhere? Because  
he’s supposed to be under house arrest as you well know. If Saunders  
finds out that Jonathon has been out joy riding with you the shit will really  
hit the fan for both of us. Don’t laugh Joan, I am not joking, we have both  
signed something called the Official Secrets Act if you remember. I think we  
should both keep quiet about your little shenanigans with your fiancé, this  
afternoon, don’t you?”

Joan struggles to keep her temper as she always does when Morse sounds  
like her father.  
“No, we returned it to the hire shop before walking home, that’s why we are  
late.”

“Good, now listen I should have thought of this before, but I think Jonathon  
might get very angry tonight when he finds out the value of the diamonds  
are only half of what he was expecting. I think you had better give me his  
passport, the sovereigns and francs so I can put them in the safe with the  
diamonds. You never know, not having a passport might encourage him to  
behave himself, but I’m not putting money on it. I just hope to God he  
hasn’t got a gun stashed away somewhere.”

“Of course, he hasn’t got a gun, where on earth would he get a gun from?  
After a few moments of thought Joan goes on,  
“Morse are you seriously implying that Jonathon has searched my bag?”

“I really think it would be best if you took your rose-coloured spectacles off,  
he’s capable of far worse than that, believe me”

When Joan goes back up to her room she does as he asks with mixed  
feelings and a very heavy heart. Jonathon is in the bath enjoying a soak  
and so, Joan takes what Morse wants out of her bag and leaves as quietly  
as she possibly can.

Once Joan has delivered the valuables to him, he seeks out the Consul to  
request that they are kept in his safe.

Morse knocks on Sir Bernard’s study door, and after a brief delay a plumy  
voice bids him to “enter.”

Morse is taken aback by the opulent “old world charm” of his office.  
Sir Bernard is lounging in a very expensive swivel chair, behind a highly  
polished Georgian oak desk with brass handles.  
Saunders looks comfortable seated on the ubiquitous Chesterfield sofa,  
which always seems to be found in these sorts of surroundings.  
Morse is asked to take a seat, and he gives a verbal report of how things  
have gone so far. He warns them both he has a feeling Smirnov is going to  
try something tonight, but his fears were brushed aside, by them both.

“Smirnov has no passport, visa or cash, he’s pretty stymied it seems to me,  
and why should he try something? He approached us don’t forget,”  
Saunders says confidently, and carries on to say  
“We will make sure that these go in the safe straightaway so don’t worry  
about that.”  
Morse had wanted to witness the passport, coins and cash being put in the  
safe, but this seemed to upset Sir Bernard, and Colonel Saunders so he  
had to drop this request.

Up until now Jonathon had been in the habit of eating with the servants  
below stairs, rather than in the dining room.  
It had nothing to do with showing solidarity with the proletariat, he wanted  
to avoid casual conversation with Sir Bernard, who would probably have  
known his father, who was a career diplomat since well before the war.  
Also, a secret member of the Communist party, and agent of the N.K.V.D.  
the predecessor of the K.G.B.

Joan’s presence however, meant he was obliged to accompany her this  
evening into the dining room.

He has been told by Sir Bernard’s butler that tonight ‘s dress code was  
formal, and if he wishes to eat in the dining room, he must wear a jacket,  
collar and tie.

Jonathon had been placed next to Lady Catherine, with Joan on his left  
side, and so at dinner there was the incongruous sight of Sir Bernard and  
Lady Catherine in evening wear, making small talk with a Russian spy who  
was dressed in battle fatigues, a garish red white and blue bow tie, left  
over from the Coronation, and a shabby Donegal Tweed jacket, that was  
far too small for him.

Sir Bernard and Lady Catherine warmed to their eccentrically dressed  
“house guest”, because he took his odd sartorial appearance in good  
humour, and was in no way the surly Soviet she had been expecting and  
dreading. She could see for the first time why Joan was so taken with him.

During coffee the diamond dealer arrived promptly at 10 o’clock to begin  
his valuation. A table and chair had already been set up for him in the  
drawing room, next to an electric socket as he had requested.  
After handing his large round felt hat, and frock coat to the butler he  
introduced himself to Sir Bernard, his wife and the rest of the guests.

Joan, Colonel Saunders, Sir Bernard and Lady Catherine made up a four to  
play bridge, around the green baize card table.

Colonel Saunders “sergeant” settled down to read a James Bond novel  
in an overstuffed Victorian club chair, and promptly fell asleep.

Meanwhile Mr Weiss was preparing himself by carefully laying out a lint  
free cloth, forceps, a Zeiss 10x lens, a dial gauge for measuring the stones  
and a notebook and pen.  
While he was plugging in his lamp and electronic scales, Sir Bernard and  
Colonel Saunders left their game of bridge to retrieve the diamonds from  
the Consulate safe.

Finally, he was ready to begin, and carefully began to unwrap the stones,  
from the brown leather box.

Morse and Jonathon had discreetly seated themselves to have a good view  
of Mr Weiss, the diamonds and each other.

Mr Weiss had a break at 11 o’clock, and accepted the offer of a Perrier  
water. Without making any further comment he drank the Perrier, and then  
diligently returned to his work. It was just before twelve, when Mr Weiss  
turned to face his now hushed and expectant audience.  
Taking his spectacles off his now sweating brow, he polished them  
theatrically with a clean white handkerchief he had taken from his top  
pocket, and announced that he had completed his appraisal, and that in  
his opinion the market value of this particular parcel of gemstones was ....  
$50.00:

To Be Continued:

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks very much for reading


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> MORSE GETS WHUMPED  
> MORSE BECOMES A DIAMOND EXPERT  
> A SCAM EXPOSED  
> SET IN WEST AFRICA  
> JOAN IS NOT VERY HAPPY

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AS USUAL EVERY THING IS ACCURATE

The British Consulate  
ait2 Chapter 7  
Upper Volta  
Ouagadougou  
November 1968

For a few seconds you could literally hear a pin drop, and then all hell   
breaks loose. The arms on Jonathon’s wooden chair were almost smashed   
to bits when he bought both his fists crashing down on them in a fit of  
rage.   
With a face like thunder, he has dragged a frightened Morse out of his   
armchair demanding to know where his “fucking diamonds” are, all the   
while shaking him like a Jack Russell terrier shakes a dying rat.

Joan tries to pull him off, but accidentally gets thrown to the floor, in the   
melee. At this point the Colonel intervenes, giving a furious Jonathon a   
sharp chop to the primary nerve in each of his bulging biceps.   
The excruciating pain forces him to drop the semi- conscious Morse, who   
falls in a dishevelled heap to the floor.   
Before Jonathon has a chance to recover, he is placed in a double arm lock   
while Saunders waits for his red mist to go.

“Are you going to calm down now, and behave yourself?”  
The Russian nods his head, and when he is released, he begins to slowly   
get to his feet, trying to rub each of his arms to get some feeling back in   
them.

“Morse has got nothing to do with this. Do you really think I would trust a   
Provincial Police Sergeant, and your girlfriend to look after a small fortune   
in cut diamonds? Grow up Smirnov.”

Saunders pauses to light a cigarette.

“Forget about the diamonds, but you do have a choice, you can either   
come back to London with me tomorrow, and be interrogated by Special   
Branch and if, and I mean if, you fully co-operate you will be offered a new   
identity and a small sum of money to start you off in your new life.  
Or I could hand you over to your friends in the Soviet Embassy which   
would mean a quick flight to Moscow, and the Lubyanka Prison.  
Where after a brief show trial you would be executed, if you were lucky, or   
you might be unlucky, and spend the rest of your days freezing your balls   
off in misery and disgrace in a Siberian Gulag.

Saunders pauses once again to let this sink in:

“So, the choice is yours Tovaritch, life in a Prison camp, or life with the   
lovely Miss Thursday, that is if she’s stupid enough to have you.”

He says this while looking at a thoroughly humiliated Joan, who having   
finished an abusive relationship not 18 months ago, was in no hurry for   
another violent man in her life.

Joan is still shocked by Jonathon’s volcanic show of temper, so when   
Morse sidles up to her, she is preparing herself for a smug “I told you so,”   
but he actually whispers   
“Something is very wrong here, Joan.”

Meanwhile Sir Bernard has given Saunders permission to give Mr. Weiss a   
lift home in the Consulate’s limousine, because the streets are dangerous   
at this time of night, and no taxis were running when Sir Bernard had tried   
to ring for one.

Colonel Saunders, before he went, had instructed his Sergeant to escort   
Jonathon up to his room, and lock him in to avoid any more outbursts or   
confrontations while he was away.

To elaborate on his statement, Morse takes Joan over to a secluded table   
and chairs where they can talk in private.

“O.k. Morse, so apart from the man I have been hoping to marry,   
behaving like the worst kind of football hooligan, making me wish the   
ground would open up and swallow me, there is also the fact that he would   
have throttled the life out of you, but for Colonel Saunders.”

Joan is getting emotional, and pauses to take a deep breath.  
“So, I have to ask you what could be possibly be wrong?”   
in a voice heavy with irony.

Morse asks Joan if she is all right, and would she like a drink of something,   
before he continues, which she declines.

“The diamonds are real Joan I am certain of it, and there is nothing I can   
do about it, I’ve got no authority here.  
Before we left on Monday, I tested a few of them, and I swear to God they   
were genuine.”

“Believe it or not Morse, you don’t know everything about everything.   
I’m going to get a glass of warm milk and go to bed.  
I just hope my personal maniac has calmed down. It’s been a long day, and   
I think tomorrow is going to be even longer, good night “she says wearily,   
and kisses Morse affectionately on the cheek.

The key to their bedroom is still in the lock, and as she enters, she hopes   
he is asleep even though the light is still on.

“Look Joan about this evening.......” he begins apologetically.

“I don’t want to discuss your behaviour this evening, all I will say is that   
your claim this afternoon that it’s not about the diamonds, it’s about us was   
a downright lie. It was only ever about the diamonds and you wasn’t it   
Jonathon?”

Jonathon sits on the bed with a forlorn look on his face.

She takes deep breath and continues,

“I plan to have a long bath, brush my teeth, and finish my milk.   
I couldn’t care a less what you plan to do this morning, just don’t you dare   
to come near me tonight.”

While Joan is in the bathroom, he takes the two remaining passports, and   
the airline tickets out of her bag, and hides them in his beaten-up rucksack.   
He then breaks open two capsules of sleeping powders that he has been   
prescribed, and stirs them into Joan’s glass of milk with a lead pencil.

Jonathon glances at his watch, it is 12.45 am and he callously turns over to   
get some sleep to prepare for his journey later on tonight.

When Joan comes out of the bath she has calmed down, and is   
considering reconciliation, until she sees that her lover considers sleep   
more important than sorting things out with her. With a deep sigh she   
drains the almost cold milk in her glass, turns the light off and gets into bed   
with her back facing towards him.

Over the years Jonathon or Yevgheny has trained himself to sleep and   
wake up promptly at whatever time he chooses, and so at precisely 2.45pm   
his eyelids flick open. He looks to check that his own biological clock   
agrees with his mechanical watch, and it does, to the minute.

Joan is sleeping like a baby, and so Jonathon kneels down by her side, and   
kisses her softly on the lips. He then places a note he had written earlier,   
beside her on her pillow.  
It read  
Proshchaniye moya dorogaya (farewell my darling)  
Watch out for the Morning Star  
Jonathon xx

Before leaving the room, he splashes some water on his face to get rid of   
the sleep in his eyes, he looks over at the still slumbering Joan and he   
blows her a kiss, before beginning his hazardous descent into the pitch   
black of the West African night.

Jonathon leaned out of the window as far as he safely could, and then   
threw his rucksack into a nearby bush, to make his climb down as easy as   
possible.

The foliage was quite slippery as it had been raining earlier on, and once or   
twice he almost lost his footing. There was no moon that night which made   
the descent even more precarious, an ascent would be out of the question,   
with the heavy rucksack he would have to carry on his back.

He realises that he has burnt his boats, no climbing back up and slipping   
back into Joan’s nice warm bed, waking her up to beg her forgiveness, but   
really hoping for sex. No choice but to carry on, and hopefully to start a new   
life.

Jonathon’s tortuous journey downwards finally ended, when he found   
himself with his feet on terra firma.

The humidity of the night, and the arduous nature of the climb had caused   
his foot to start aching as it often did, and his drill shirt was soaking wet   
with his sweat.  
He took his boot and sock off, and after wringing out his shirt he began to   
massage his foot.  
He was in plenty of time for his meeting, and so there was no point in   
hurrying.

Five minutes later he was on his feet, and after retrieving his bag from the   
large red rhododendron bush, he was making his way across the damp   
lawn towards the tumbledown garage that housed the decrepit Willeys   
jeep, and the deadly semi- automatic weapon, complete with two   
bandoleers of 9m/m ammunition.

As he approached the rotten barn-style doors he could see they were   
slightly ajar, with a faint glow showing through the missing slats.   
Perhaps it was his partner-in-crime, but he didn’t think so.   
When he reached the door, he looked through one of the holes, and was   
amazed by what he saw.

It was Morse, sitting in the driver’s seat, wrapped up in a tartan blanket and   
reading his guide book of Ouagadougou by the light of a hand-held torch.

“Well, well Detective Sergeant Morse this is a surprise, have you come   
here to arrest me?” he asks mockingly.

“Unfortunately, I have no jurisdiction here, this is a French Protectorate.   
Much as I always enjoy our little chats Jonathon, I think it’s best that on this   
occasion we wait until your partner arrives,”   
and Morse goes back to reading his book.

A very pleased with himself Colonel Saunders arrives, carrying a small   
leather suitcase. The sight of Morse quickly removes the smile from his   
face.

“What the hell is he doing here?” he snarls angrily at  
Jonathon.

Jonathon just shrugs his shoulders, and gets ready to reply,  
but Morse interrupts him.

“To discuss with you the murder of Claudine Duval alias Major Irina Boursin   
alias Sister Adele. I believe you killed her because you found out from your   
colleagues’ in M.I.6 that she was on her way to kill your pal Smirnov, on a   
K.G.B. personal directive, no doubt because he was planning to defect to   
the U.K. I can’t prove this, but it can be proved you were on the same flight,   
at least the Surete will have a name and a motive to go with the fingerprints   
they found on the cyanide laced coffee cup, that was bought by you  
for her.”

Morse yawns and stretches himself, while the Colonel pulls out his Webley   
service revolver, unfazed Morse goes on 

“Have you ever heard of the old party trick where you stand a round,   
brilliant cut diamond ring over a black dot, and if the dot disappears it is a   
genuine diamond, if it doesn’t it’s a fake.   
I don’t want to bore you gentlemen, but it’s to do with the reflection of light   
within a diamond, and in all the gems I tested, the dot disappeared.”

Morse scratches his neck, and pauses a moment to think:

“Knowing this, it was just a matter of enjoying the theatrics the three of you   
provided tonight. You in particular Jonathon was very convincing, probably   
too convincing as far as poor Joan was concerned. “

After looking at his watch he went on

“I assume that’s where you have been Saunders, selling the diamonds to   
that dodgy jeweller of yours, after all who’s going miss a box of paste?”

Neither Jonathon or Saunders were inclined to answer this, instead   
Saunders asked Morse a question of his own.

“One question Morse how did you know we were meeting in this garage, at   
this time of night.”

“After I saw your friend and Joan breaking his confinement by joyriding   
about town. I went to the hire shop, and it was closed for the rest of the   
day, so I knew he planned to keep the Jeep somewhere nearby, ready for   
his get away, and I stumbled upon this place. Although it was empty, there   
were recent tyre tracks, and after a thorough search, I found your firearm   
and ammunition wrapped up in an old sack.”

“I knew you would have to come back here at some point, because you   
needed the jeep, and weapon for your escape.  
I just did not know when exactly, and so I started my vigil after Joan went to   
bed at about twelve thirty.”

Morse continued on a more serious note,

“Unless you both plan to shoot me to keep me quiet, which I think both of   
you would agree, would not be a very smart move, I have a proposition for   
you both.

“At the moment the time is 4.00 am.   
I will give you both a 12 hour start, before I report what I know, and suspect   
to the Gendarmerie here, and the C.I.D in the U.K.”

“In return Jonathon you will disappear from Miss Thursday’s life forever,   
and you Colonel Saunders will in turn disappear from mine.”

Colonel Saunders tucks his handgun into the waist band of his trousers,   
and Morse shows Jonathon where the sack containing the PA MAC 50 and   
the 9m/m ammunition is hidden.

Jonathon and Saunders both hold out their hands for Morse to shake, but   
he turns on his heel, and without a word makes his way back to the   
Consulate to wake up the sleepy night porter, to hopefully get some sleep   
before the flight home tomorrow.

The two crooks wasted no time once Morse had gone to start to divide their   
loot. Mr Weiss had seen what these two characters were capable of at first   
hand, and so there was no way he was going to try and cheat them which   
was his original plan.

On the way to the Airport, Saunders asks Jonathon,  
“Are you sure you don’t want to come with me. B.O.S.S is always looking   
for talent like yours, and South Africa is a beautiful country you know.”

“Thanks, but no thanks; I’ve got urgent business to attend to here, before I   
make any plans about the future.”

“Well, if you change your mind”   
Saunders says offering Jonathon his business card.

Five minutes later the two rogues pull up outside the Departure Terminal   
they shake hands, and say their goodbyes.

The now Mr Saunders is off to the First Class Departure Lounge   
and then the 8 a.m. flight to Johannesburg.

Jonathon has got more dangerous work ahead of him this morning.   
He starts the engine, and swings the wheel to join the traffic travelling   
south, where he is determined to recover something that was stolen from   
him.

About halfway to his destination he stops the jeep, and gets out putting his   
rucksack and semi –automatic on the passenger seat. The two bandoleers   
full of 9m/m ammunition he slings over each shoulder, making him look like   
a bandit from “The Magnificent 7”.   
From inside the rucksack, he takes out an evil looking Bowie throwing  
knife, a pair of Zeiss field glasses, and a stick of night camouflage make   
up which he liberally smears over his hands and face.   
Finally, he checks that the magazine, and the two spares are full, before   
blasting a few rounds into the jungle to check that his weapon is in good  
working order.

TO BE CONTINUED

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THANKS OR READING THE PENULTIMATE CHAPTER


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Final episode where I hope every thing is resolved, or is it ?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> partly changed the title , because I hope it might appeal to more readers.

Cafe-Au-Lait2 Chapter 8  
The Old Catholic Cemetery  
South Ouagadougou  
Upper Volta  
November 1968

The Old Catholic Cemetery was where and how the Medicine Man had   
described it. On an isolated road about 20 miles south of the Capital   
surrounded by a high dry-stone wall that was in remarkably good condition,   
considering the cemetery itself had been abandoned for years, and was   
now in a terribly run-down state of disrepair.

The only entrance was just about wide enough for four men carrying a   
coffin to pass through. The tombstones, and monuments were weather   
beaten, broken beyond repair, and covered in lichen and moss.   
The few diseased trees that remained, were all infested with Spanish   
moss.  
This lent a very Edgar Alan Poe ambiance to this god forsaken place.   
So, it was no wonder the superstitious locals gave the creepy old graveyard   
a wide berth.

Jonathon arrived at 6 am, thirty minutes before dawn. 

To see over the wall, he had to stand on the passenger seat of the old jeep.   
The sky was pitch black, no moon and no stars, only the scudding clouds   
were to be seen from the ground.

All that was visible to him were the flames of 2 or 3 camp fires, and several   
shadowy figures who he guessed were the guards.

His appointment with the Medicine Man was not until 8 am, and so   
Jonathon thought there was nothing for it but to get some sleep while he   
could.  
So once again to be on the safe side Jonathon immobilised the jeep by   
removing the rota arm. 

Climbing onto the flat bed of the old Willy’s jeep he made himself as   
comfortable as possible under the old tartan blanket, while holding the   
Webley revolver in his right hand, and willing himself to go to sleep.

At precisely 7.45 a.m. his eyes opened, and he checked the time on his   
watch, splashed his face with water from a canteen, and then rinsed his   
parched mouth out, before getting up to face the day.

Standing on the Jeep, he raised the binoculars to his eyes, and saw a sight   
very few white men ever get to see.

The British Consulate:  
Morning 8a.m.  
Joan woke up from her drug induced sleep, and when she reached across   
for Jonathon, she was shocked to realise he’d gone.   
She called out in case he was in the bathroom, but no answer.   
Without a passport or money, she had been sure he would change his   
mind and stay to take his chances with Saunders and the British   
Intelligence Service.

All the memories of the previous day came flooding back to her, some   
wonderful, and a few not so wonderful, and then she found the note.

Like Jonathon it was a mystery, or an enigma if you like, and that’s why she   
was standing outside Morse’s bedroom door in her nightclothes at just after   
8a.m. knocking furiously. 

Morse hadn’t had much sleep at all, wracked with guilt about letting   
Saunders get away.   
He had made his mind up that, deal or no deal he was going to put the   
wheels in motion to have them both apprehended.   
While mulling this over he becomes aware of Joan knocking.

After what seems an age to Joan, Morse finally answers his bedroom door   
to her.

“Morse, he’s gone,” she says with a stammer in her voice.

After a long pause she continues

“He told me yesterday he was leaving, but I didn’t believe that he would do   
this to me again.”

By now Joan is sobbing into his shoulder and saying,  
“After the lies of Paul and Ray how could I be such a fool?”

She eventually calms down when Morse asks her to come in to his room,   
and she shows him the note Jonathon had left for her.

“The first part is obviously Russian, I know a bit from my days in the Royal   
Signals, but not this.   
I suggest you try Lady Catherine, she took a languages degree at St   
Matilda’s.  
She will probably be able to help you out.”

He pauses to consider,

“As for the second part, was he interested in Astronomy?  
I know Venus is the Evening star, and a Morning star is mentioned in the   
Book of Job, but that’s about it Joan.”

Reading it for the second time he confirms,  
“No, I am sorry Joan, but I don’t think I can help you anymore.”

Morse changes the subject after getting Joan some tissues,

“I met Jonathon and Saunders in the old garage, after you had gone to bed.   
I don’t want to go into the details now, because I am going to ask Sir   
Bernard to call a meeting for the five of us that remain, to reveal what I   
think has been happening here, and then we can then decide what action   
we should take.”

The Old Catholic Cemetery:  
Jonathon adjusted the focus on his field glasses to take it all in.  
A caravan of Slave Traders or the more common euphemism they are   
known by today......Human Traffickers.

Their multi- coloured tents must have covered many acres.  
Camels, horses and donkeys were being fed by their “armed to  
the teeth” Arab owners, while filthy starving dogs ran around looking for   
scraps, whilst squabbling amongst themselves.

The whole place must stink to high heaven of shit he thought in disgust,   
and then immediately regretted it after feeling his stomach start to churn,   
and the bile rising in his throat.

What must have been the female slaves were lighting fires, and preparing   
breakfast for their masters, but Jonathon could not see the person he was   
looking for in this Hell on earth, only a very tall scarecrow like figure with   
long dreadlocks.

Jonathon dug up the $30,000 he had hidden earlier under a stump.  
He counted out $6,000, they had asked for $5,000, and if they demanded   
more than $6,000 they can fucking well keep her he thought.  
After re-burying the remaining cash, he folded the $6,000 into his hip   
pocket.

Time to go he thought.

He stuffed the 2 full magazines each side of his belt buckle, and the Bowie   
knife under his belt, behind his back.   
The obsolete Webley went into a holster on his right hip. 

Holding the PA MAC 50 in his right hand, he checked the safety catch was   
off, and with his finger on the trigger guard he strode off to meet the   
Medicine Man and Abu Simbel, the leader of this band of cutthroats and   
brigands.

The Slave Traders were generally acknowledged to be among the worst   
examples of humanity on the planet.   
Recruited from the outcasts of Islam, and the dregs of the Rif and Touareg  
tribes who have been slaughtering each other, and in turn being   
slaughtered by the French foreign legion for more than one hundred and   
fifty years.

Jonathon quickly spots the group he has been looking for, an enormously   
fat Abu Simbel with a body guard either side, and of course the ubiquitous   
Medicine Man, broker and interpreter, for this enterprise, but no Tillie.   
If he could see her nearby, he would have been tempted to take them all   
out now, and make a run for it with Tillie, before the rest of the camp   
realised what was happening, but they had obviously thought of that  
already, and made sure they kept her out of sight.

The Medicine Man has spotted Jonathon, and waves him over to join them. 

Jonathon refuses to sit down until he has satisfied himself that the mother   
of his child is o.k.

He is taken to a smelly ramshackle tent, where Tillie is lying on flea ridden   
blankets, bound and gagged tight enough to stop her escape, but loose   
enough to avoid damaging the merchandise. 

Her Arab guard has stupidly waited outside after Jonathon has given him a   
wink and a $50 bill as a bribe.

“Tillie, Tillie, wake up we haven’t much time,” he says violently shaking her   
awake.”

“If you hear gunshots get up and run like hell towards the hole in the wall   
do you understand.”  
Jonathon says while furiously sawing at the ropes that bind her.

Tillie quickly nods at Jonathon, her eyes betraying that she is scared out of   
her wits.

The British Consulate:  
Before breakfast Joan is chatting to Lady Catherine, and she quickly   
translates the Russian script as “farewell my Darling.” Which does nothing   
to cheer Joan up, who despite everything still had hopes of joining   
Jonathon in Rhodesia to start a new life together in the sun.

Sir Bernard agrees to Morse’s request for a meeting, and they all gather   
together “Agatha Christie” style in the drawing room at precisely   
10.30 a.m. to hear Morse’s revelations.

Morse starts at the beginning, with his first interview with Colonel   
Saunders, and relates everything right through to his clandestine meeting   
with Saunders and Jonathon, the previous night.  
Fact or his supposition he leaves nothing out except for two things, his   
planned seduction of Miss Thursday, and the deals he had struck with   
Smirnov and Saunders.

Joan then makes a confession of her own, that at some point Jonathon   
must have stolen hers and Morse’s travel documents from her bag.   
She finishes off by apologising to everyone for being so careless, and   
refusing to listen to Morse’s warnings.

Morse struggles once again not to say “I told you so.”

Sir Bernard reassures them both that the replacement passports will only   
take a week to arrive, once he has taken their photo’s, and sent them off in   
the diplomatic bag.

“The F.O. will sort out the visas, and we can buy the tickets at the airport,   
so, don’t worry my dear, it will sort itself out.” 

“I must however phone London to get guidance on what you  
have told me Morse, so I may be some little while.”

Sir Bernard is quite pleased to be the bearer of bad news at   
The Foreign Office, and even happier that his prophecy that  
“It would all end in tears” is proving to be correct, at least as far as the   
Foreign Secretary is concerned.

The Old Catholic Cemetery:

Jonathon is very relieved that Tillie and the baby appear to be fine, and so   
he takes up his place on the right-hand side of the Medicine man, and   
directly opposite Abu Simbel. 

Breakfast is served on a large palm leaf, which he suspects of being dog   
meat, with a cup of donkey milk to wash it down.   
He knows to refuse would be an unforgivable insult to Abu Simbel so he   
smiles, nods his head and forces it down with a large helping of false relish,   
while trying not to gag.

Very quickly Jonathon’s machine gun catches Abu Simbel’s covetous eyes,   
and he asks the Medicine Man in Arabic

“Are you sure he’s not with the Foreign Legion?”

This causes the Arab’s body guards to bristle, and reach for the curved   
daggers in their sash waistbands.   
The words “Foreign Legion” are like poison to these people.

To diffuse the situation, Jonathon takes a hell of a risk by handing it to Abu   
Simbel, and whispering to the Medicine Man

“Tell him to please accept this as a token of the friendship that now exists   
between us.”

The Medicine man does just that, and soon the fat Arab and his   
bodyguards become very jovial at receiving this highly prized, and deadly   
weapon from the blonde and blue-eyed stranger.

At last, the negotiations can begin.

The British Consulate:

While Sir Bernard is trying to reach London, Joan wanders off to try and   
find something to read, and discovers Sergeant Cork in the library, having   
just finished reading a newspaper.

“Excuse me Sergeant may I read that when you have finished?” 

“Of course, Miss, but I wouldn’t have thought the Morning Star would have   
interested you. It’s a Communist propaganda rag financed by Moscow.   
It was left here by that bastard Smirnov.”

Suddenly remembering the relationship between Joan and Smirnov, the   
rather red-faced spy makes his apologies, and leaves Joan to read it   
on her own.

Joan quickly folds up the Newspaper, and puts it in her bag so she can   
read it at her leisure, and in private. It was going to be her secret, and   
perhaps more importantly her link to Jonathon.

Thirty minutes later Sir Bernard leaves his study and asks everyone to   
gather round for his announcement.

“First of all, may I just confirm that everybody here has signed the Official   
Secrets Act?”

Sir Bernard looks around and everybody has.

“Good, well that makes everything much simpler. I have just finished   
speaking with Michael Stewart the Foreign Secretary, about the events that   
have occurred here over the last few days, and he has informed me that   
for the public good a D notice or news blackout is to be placed on them,   
which requires your absolute silence on these matters, and on anything   
that may be related to them. Failure to do so will result in prosecution   
leading to a lengthy term of imprisonment.”

An astounded Morse puts his hand up to attract Sir Bernard’s attention.

“Are you saying Sir Bernard that Col. Saunders in particular will get off scot   
free from a murder and fraud charge, because he cannot now be brought to   
trial, as no one can testify.”

“Not exactly scot-free Detective Sergeant, he will of course lose his pension   
and the knighthood he was expecting in the New Year’s honours list, as for   
Smirnov who can say, rather depends on his masters in the Kremlin.”

Morse is speechless.

The Old Catholic Cemetery:

Jonathon is aware that in the Timbuktu slave market the maximum bid for   
Tillie would be about $3,000, and he would probably fetch a similar sum if   
Abu Simbel decided to double cross him.   
He can see from the avaricious look in his eyes that Abu Simbel has been   
thinking of doing just that, and so doubling his money.

Their eyes lock, and for a split second they can mysteriously read each   
other’s mind, and intentions.

The life of a slave for himself and Tillie does not appeal, and so he knows   
he has to act now.

With his left hand he swiftly yanks hard on the Medicine Man’s dreadlocks,   
exposing his throat, which with a single practised movement he cuts,   
almost de-capitating him with the Bowie knife in his right hand.

Abu Simbel and his henchman are transfixed by the blood, and the sudden   
appalling act of violence, which is a big mistake because before they can   
recover Col. Saunders’ Webley has drilled a 9m/m hole in each of their   
foreheads, and all three men die with a puzzled expression on their face. 

Jonathon scrambles behind a large cross on a plinth to give covering fire to   
Tillie who is now sprinting towards him.

“Go on, go on,” he urges her to go faster, as the earth erupts around her   
flying feet, and as their fire starts to get more accurate, he blocks the line of   
sight the gunmen have on Tillie, using up a full magazine on a 45 degree   
arc of fire giving him respite for a few seconds while he swops the   
magazine and fires again.   
By now the whole camp is beginning to bear down on him, and to a man   
they’re all out for blood to avenge the assassination of the Sheikh.

Jonathon looks round, and Tillie waves to him from the exit, she’s safe for   
now he thinks as he slots in his last magazine, and blasts away at anything   
that moves.  
He plans to save the last couple of bullets in the Webley for himself and   
Tillie, if things go wrong, but he still has one last card to play.

Springing to his feet he pulls the wad of dollar bills out of his pocket, and   
throws them high into the air where they are blown about like a giant cloud   
of cash confetti.

Jonathon starts a mad race to reach the wall before they turn their attention   
back to him. He dodges and weaves, as he runs across the grass and path.   
Sometimes hiding behind fallen masonry, all the while cursing his damaged   
foot that he knows could be the death of him, but he is very near his goal  
now and he can see Tillie waiting, and encouraging him on.

Back in the camp the mad scramble for free money continues, except for   
one man who is Abu Simbel’s eldest son.

Slowly he takes aim at the fleeing Russian, with his father’s ancient Berber   
musket, and fires.

Jonathon’s first thought is that he has somehow been punched in the back   
by Muhammad Ali. 

His second thought was to wonder how it was possible for the grass to   
jump up so fast, and slap him in the face.

His final thought was “why is Tillie trying to wake me from this beautiful   
dream I’m having, of making love to Joan in the last rays of the setting sun   
on Mount Tenakourou?”  
* * *

EPILOGUE  
Joan Thursday’s Flat  
An evening in early January 1969

Joan Thursday has just settled down to read the latest edition of the   
Morning Star, she’s not interested in the politics, propaganda or even the   
crossword puzzle, just finding out what has become of the love of her life,   
Dr. Jonathon Keyes.

After some weeks of religiously buying the Communist inspired newspaper   
she finally finds what she has been looking for, however it’s not what she   
wants to see.

On Page 8 there is a black bordered, portrait style photograph of a smiling   
Comrade Brigadier General Yevgheny Smirnov, a few years younger and   
looking impossibly handsome in his full-dress uniform. 

Underneath the photograph there is the caption:

Hero of the Soviet Union: January 1940- November 1968  
who died fighting the forces of Capitalism and Imperialism.

Joan has to read it through a number of times to take it all in, not   
surprisingly she begins to feel very shaky, and slightly faint at the shock it   
has given her, and decides to uncork the bottle of her favourite wine that   
Morse had left, after his last visit several months ago.   
Joan drinks almost half of the bottle, and although she knows she is only   
postponing the inevitable feelings of grief, shock and denial, she doesn’t   
really care.

After carefully cutting the article out of the newspaper, she gently folds it,   
and places it with her engagement ring, the last note he gave her, and two   
theatre ticket stubs from “A West Side Story”, a show that they went to see   
last May. 

These went into a small brown leather zip up box she brought back from   
Africa as a souvenir.

She then decides to finish off the bottle, and have an early night, hoping   
that tomorrow would be a better day.

At 6 o’clock after a restless night, that included being sick twice, and a   
thumping head-ache. Joan gets up to make a large black coffee, and   
swallow a couple of Anadin, to help her face another day, after a night   
that never seemed to end.

Curled up on the sofa Jonathon always sat on, she felt the numbing effect   
of the alcohol starting to wear off fast, and the dark negativity of her   
thoughts are beginning to crowd in on her consciousness.

Joan knows she really should speak to an understanding soul who could   
help her come to terms with her grief, but who?

Her family were absolutely out of the question, her dad thinks her taste in   
men is pretty appalling anyway, and if he found out she had been  
“sleeping with the enemy” he would more than likely disown her.

Sam’s reaction would probably be even more extreme.   
As a newly promoted member of the Armed Forces, her affair could   
possibly have serious repercussions for his career, so there is no way she   
could tell him.

No point in telling her Mum, because she would only tell Dad, she just   
couldn’t help it.

Helen and Pauline were a possibility, but her flatmates were both notorious   
gossips who could never be relied upon to keep a confidence.

Morse would have been the obvious choice, he already knew most of it, but   
a month or so ago he hooked up with an old girlfriend, Staff Nurse Monica   
Hicks, and now he was so far under her thumb he couldn’t think of anything   
else but her, Joan thinks somewhat resentfully.

While pondering this problem Joan has a brainwave, and hits upon the idea   
of talking to the elderly couple who run the newsagents, after all they have   
both been so kind, and friendly since she started buying the Morning Star.

THE END:

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to those of you who have stuck with it.  
> to any one who has not watched "Quartet" the news agents were part  
> of a Soviet spy ring.

**Author's Note:**

> THANKS FOR READING, AND AS USUAL COMMENTS AND KUDOS VERY WELCOME


End file.
